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CORfRIGHT DEPOSIT 



HUNTING 



IN THE 



LAND OF HIAWATHA 



OR 

The Hunting Trips of an Editor 



The Story of Seven Annual Hunting Trits of the Author, being- an 
interesting narrative of the incidents peculiar to Camt Life 
among the tines and sfiruces in the North Country — The Land 
of ^'^ Hiawatha." Establishing the location of the scene 
of Longfellow's "Hiawatha," giving a full descrip- 
tion of the beautiful Tah-qua-me-non River, on 
which "Hiawatha" builded and floated his 
ihantont canoe, together with its early 
history and traditions, and illustra- 
ting its Great Falls, also giving 
one of the beautiful legends 
of the Tah'Qua-me-non. 



BY 

Af D.^SHAFFMASTER 



ILLUSTRATIONS FROM VIEWS TAKEN BY THE AUTHOR 



CHICAGO 

M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY 
407-429 Dearborn St. 



OCT 15 1904 



^ 



CO 



Copyright 1904, by 
A. D. SHAFFMASTER 



3 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. First Annual Hunt 7 

II. Second Annual Hunt 23 

III. Third Annual Hunt 45 

IV. Fourth Annual Hunt 69 

V. Fifth Annual Hunt Ss 

VI. Sixth Annual Hunt 113 

VII. Seventh Annual Hunt 133 

VIII. The Land of Hiawatha— The Beauti- 
ful Tah-qua-me-non 153 

IX. Hints on the Art of Still Hunting 167 

X. The Timber Wolf 175 

XL Sentiment of Hunting 181 



TITLES TO ILLUSTRATIONS 



Author Frontispiece 

The Big Buck of 1898 8 

Camp Number One, 1898 9 

A. D. Shaffmaster, Journal Camp 16 

Haunts of the Deer 17 

East and West Road 24 

George Brown, Journal Camp 25 

Cedar Camp, Group No. i 32 

Cedar Camp, Group No. 2 33 

Cedar Camp, Axemen 40 

Homeward Bound 41 

George Brown and 250-LB. Buck 48 

McNearuf's Home on Tah-qua-me-non River... 49 

The Beautiful Tah-qua-me-non 56 

The Editor and Big Buck of 1900 57 

Group of Hunters in front of Hotel 64 

Station Agent Bussette and Daughter 65 

Our U. S. Mail Box on Stage Road 72 

The Drs. Outwater's Camp 73 

Al and His Big Buck of 1901 80 

Our Camp at Silver Creek 81 

Al Has a Fresh Kill 88 

Clark Green Bringing in a Deer 89 

The Beaver House, First View 96 

The Beaver Pond 97 

Our Load Starts for the Railway Station . . . 104 

On Tah-qua-me-non Bay 105 

A. D. Shaffmaster and Great Wolf 112 

Our Camp on Silver Creek, 1902 113 

Where the Bear was Caught 120 

A. D. Shaffmaster and the Black Bear 121 

Group Number Two 128 

The Load Ready for the Station 129 

On Top of Lookout Ridge 136 

Sager and the Editor Bringing in Al's Deer . 137 

On the Tah-qua-me-non River 152 

Camp Group 153 

The Load Ready for the Station 168 

Deerfoot Lodge 169 

Great Falls of the Tah-qua-me-non 184 



PREFACE 



In presenting this work to the public, the author 
does so, knowing full well no attempt has been 
made to make this narrative other than it is, the 
simple recital of incidents peculiar to Camp Life 
in the woods. He offers no apology for perhaps 
a liberal sprinkling of the Nectar of the Woods 
which has been allowed to leak in and permeate 
the breath of his narrative ; nor for the unbound- 
ed love which he breathes for the Wild, and the 
creatures of its domain. 

It is sought to preserve for the use of future 
lovers of the Woods and Waters, these plain tales, 
and to dedicate this work to all who may read 
these pages and find aught of pleasure, solace or 
satisfaction therein. 

Allen Dyer Shaffmaster. 



Bronson, Michigan, August, 1904. 



HUNTING 

IN THE LAND OF HIAWATHA 

OR 

The Hunting Trips of an Editor 



FIRST ANNUAL HUNT 
Chapter I 

See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, 
And mounts exulting on triumphant wings * * * 

—Pope. 

"When do we start?" 

"This afternoon, Dick. Have you your outfit 
ready?" 

"All ready except loading a few extra heavy 
charged shells, you know we may need such if we 
should run onto a b " 

But the sentence was hardly finished when I 
broke into a hearty laugh, and chaffingly took up 
the unfinished subject by adding, "bear." 

"Yes, bear. You've done nothing but talk 
about bear, deer, wolves, wildcats, panthers and 
th' other varmints that's, as you ses, is roamin' 
round in them north woods, for more'n 'er month 
past, an' I don't believe in going up there with 
no toy gun." 

And the speaker, a broad-shouldered, muscular 
mechanic, standing over six feet in his stockings. 



8 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

with a pleasant open countenance, lighted up with 
a pair of honest blue eyes, and a half quizzical 
smile on his face, continued the work of oiling up 
a heavy single barrel shot gun which he held in 
his hands, while he continued: "I've hurried up 
this gun, cos I wanted to take it with me, an' it's 
all my own work. Yes, it's an eight bore, weighs 

thirteen pounds, and it'll shoot clean thro' a ! 

Well, you just wait and see what it will do." 

"All right, Dick," I replied with a smile, "we 
will finish packing our box, then away for the 
happy hunting grounds." 

After a pleasant trip of some 350 miles, through 
one of the handsomest and most picturesque sec- 
tions of the state, through Paradisian Southern 
Michigan, via the Lake Shore & Michigan Southern 
Ry., and for 300 miles due north on the Grand 
Rapids & Indiana Ry., famous as "The Fishing 
Line" gliding through alternate forest and wood- 
land, interspersed with the countless sylvan lakes, 
which makes this line of railroad famous the world 
over as traversing the finest fishing country in all 
the known world, we arrived at Trout Lake, a 
small station on the Duluth, South Shore & At- 
lantic Ry. I had been advised by Editor Jones 
of the St. Ignace Enterprise, to try this place, so 
we were soon enjoying the hospitality of the Trout 
Lake House. We made camp on a little penin- 
sula, about half a mile from town, where we hunted 
with indifferent success for about a week. There 
seemed to be quite a number of deer, but the num- 
ber of hunters were in excess of the number of 




THE BIG BUCK OF '98. 




CAMP NO. I, 1898. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 9 

deer. We only sav/ one deer, a very large buck, 
in our week's stay, but shot quite a number of 
partridge and ducks, and Dick shot a very large 
porcupine, tipping it from the foremost branches 
of a lofty hemlock with one charge from his big 
gun. The animal would weigh about 25 pounds, 
and Dick examined it with a good deal of curiosity, 
as it was the first one he had ever killed. We 
secured a quantity of its quills and I cut off two 
of its feet to take back with us as souvenirs to 
show our friends. 

Believing that we would not be very successful 
in getting deer at this place, and as time was sHp- 
ping away, the season having opened on the eighth, 
I proposed that we move our camp farther up the 
line, in a more remote section of the country, and 
Dick assenting, I fell to studying a small state 
map which I carried in my pocket. 

"See that river?" I exclaimed, as I pointed to 
a thread-Uke line on the map. 

"Yes, but what of that," repUed Dick. 

"Well, I believe that near that river — the Tah- 
qua-me-non, there is plenty of game, and I pro- 
pose that we pull out of here at once." 

"All right, Al, I don't believe we will get any- 
thing here. Too many hunters, and luck seems 
to be against us." 

The result was, when the train bound north came 
along, we were passengers, bag and baggage, and 
after about an hour's ride through a series of 
spruce swamp and wild tangle, which at once 



lo Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

stamped it as a game country, we arrived at Ecker- 
man about noon on Saturday, Nov. 13. 

It was a queer looking place, and a typical back- 
woods one at that. Only a few houses, not over 
half a dozen, mostly log or half log and half frame 
structures. We spent the afternoon in loitering 
about the place and picking up such information 
as we could in regard to the country, and in secur- 
ing the services of a teamster, a Mr. McMullen, to 
take us out on the following day. The next day 
(Sunday) we were hauled out into the woods 
some ten miles north, by Sam McMullen, the team- 
ster. He drove us about a mile off the stage road, 
which is nothing but a winding team trail through 
unbroken forest, and deposited us near a small 
cold spring of running water, in the shelter of a 
group of hills, and in the shadow of towering hem- 
locks. We did not reach our camping place until 
about three o'clock in the afternoon, and as we 
had not brought a tent, we had to build a camp. 
I selected a place at the base of a sloping bank, 
and between two big trees which had fallen parallel 
with each other, and about ten feet apart. With 
the aid of a shovel and our axe to cut the roots, 
we dug and shoveled alternately, working like 
beavers, and just at dusk, had the satisfaction to 
move into our snug little quarters, which were 
about 8x12 feet, and just high enough to stand 
upright in. It was a real hunter's camp, I told 
Dick, as we had constructed it with our own hands. 
An old canvas, with plenty of hemlock branches, 
made a good roof, while dirt, logs and more branches 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor ii 

formed the enclosure. A large box we emptied 
of camp duffle answered as a door, we entering 
our hut first, and placing the box in the opening 
afterwards. We made a bed of freshly cut hem- 
lock and spruce tops, and set up our camp stove, 
brought water from the spring, and were ready 
for the night, which was now upon us. 

Being eleven miles from any human habitation, 
we were alone in the heart of the forest. It was a 
new sensation for Dick, who seemed to regard the 
approaching gloom of night with considerable un- 
easiness. But I reassured him with encouraging 
words, and we prepared our supper. 

The next day we cut some wood, and watched 
on runways near our camp, but did not see any- 
thing. We began to get more familiar with our 
surroundings, and made some excursions into the 
woods. 

Tuesday, Nov. i6. — We did not wake very early 
this morning, it is so dark here surrounded by tall 
trees and we have no window in the cabin, only 
such light as steals through the cracks and our 
lantern which we keep burning most of the time 
when at home. Started out at 8:00, and I took a 
north and easterly course while Dick went a little 
way south to watch a runway. I returned to camp 
at 3 :oothis afternoon,having followed a runway back 
into the woods three or four miles. I saw three 
deer, and fired at each, but did not get one of them. 
I only saw the flag of the first one, and fired at ran- 
dom; the second one was back in the thick brush 
and among the trees, and although I fired three 



12 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

or four shots at it, it did not run at all, but walked 
along as unconcernedly as though nothing had hap- 
pened; I was about loo yards from the deer and 
it did not see me at all. The next one I ran across 
farther along the trail, and it was a fine buck. I 
was just getting ready to turn to go home, when 
he ran out of the woods on my left and I caught 
sight of him when about 75 yards away; he saw 
me, but I stopped and stood still and he did the 
same, looking steadily at me, while I slowly drew 
up my rifle, and taking a too quick aim fired; the 
shot apparently did not hit him, as he with a big 
bound turned and ran into the woods and I fired 
three more shots at him as he went, but do not 
think I hit him. There was not enough snow to 
track or I could have followed him and got another 
shot, I think, as he did not run very fast nor go 
very far after I fired at him. 

Wednesday, Nov. 17. — Up at 4:50 this morning, 
and find on peeping out through the chinks of our 
hut, that the ground is covered with snow. We 
had breakfast at 6:00 and at 6:30 started with our 
guns for the haunts of the deer. Dick went in 
on the east side of the old runway and I took my 
old trail of yesterday, supposing I could find my 
way back to the place where I saw the three deer, 
but after a long tramp I found that too much 
snow had fallen during the night, which effectually 
hid many objects which otherwise might seem 
familiar to me and aid me in locating the vicinity. 
Dick got into camp before I did, and reported 
some fresh tracks but no deer. I did not see any 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 13 

deer either, but plenty of fresh tracks in the snow. 
We are both tired from the day's tramp and shall 
retire early. 

Thursday, Nov. 18. — We found on looking out 
this morning that more fresh snow fell last night, 
and it is still snowing a little. We started out as 
usual, going east of our camp about a mile and 
then turning almost due north or northeast. 

We found the fresh fallen snow of last night 
just enough to effectually cover over all the old 
tracks of yesterday, so it is what is called in the 
hunter's vernacular "good tracking." It is now 
just 7 o'clock, and we have finished supper, and 
Dick had just added the finishing touches to the 
meal by washing down his last slice of bread with 
the last remaining pint of coffee in the pot, which 
makes an even three pint cupfuls he has taken 
for his supper. When I first came into the woods, 
I smiled to myself when I beheld the pint cups 
we intended to use to drink from and wondered 
if I could down the contents of one of them — ■ 
strong rich coffee without milk — at each meal, but 
now after two weeks in the woods I find to my 
utter surprise that I can and do easily drink two 
pint cupfuls every meal, and a little swallow now 
and then between times. Dick drinks the coffee 
pot empty every chance he gets, and I do believe 
he could easily drink a barrel of coffee a day if he 
could only get it, which he cannot here. 

It is about the same way with the amount of 
solid foods which we can stow away in this climate. 

Dick got lost today, and returned to camp just 



14 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

at dusk, white as a sheet with fright, and nearly 
exhausted. After separating this morning, we 
each went a different direction, and agreeing to 
meet at a marked tree at four o'clock. I was there, 
but Dick did not come, so I returned to camp after 
first waiting for him until nearly dark. I had a 
good laugh at him tonight when he told me of 
his adventure. It appears he was tracking a big 
buck, and did not pay much attention to where 
he was going, until it came time for him to meet 
me at the appointed tree. He started, and after 
tramping around awhile, he came upon a track 
in the snow, whick he took for mine, following it 
until he came out to an open space in which there 
was a large birch tree with a very large knot half 
way up. As this tree seemed somewhat familiar, 
he paused to think, when he remembered having 
passed the same tree in the morning. He had been 
following his own tracks of the morning. So he 
started off in an opposite direction, and as dark- 
ness was falling, he hurried his steps, and after 
thrashing around over several miles, jumping logs, 
crawling through tree tops, and dodging trees, he 
again came to a halt, and lo, and behold, the old 
birch tree with the knot was before him. Now, 
thoroughly convinced that he was lost, his head 
began to whirl, and the cold sweat came out on 
his forehead. But still determined to get out, he 
started again. He now no longer turned out for 
brush or tree tops, but plunged madly through 
them, scratching his face and bruising his flesh, 
but he minded it not; his gait became a trot, and 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 15 

his breath came in big gasps. Several times he 
was on the point of stopping and cHmbing a tree, 
he said, but still kept on. At last, by sheer luck, 
he struck my tracks where I had come out an hour 
before, and was soon in camp, a sadder and wiser 
boy. 

After he had related the substance of the fore- 
going to me, I told him that a compass was an 
absolute necessity to a man in an unknown and 
pathless woods, and that he would have made a 
big mistake that might have cost him his life if he 
had given up for lost that night and climbed a tree 
as he thought of doing, and told him if he ever 
got lost to build a big fire, which he could have 
easily done as there were many dry pine and other 
trees and stubs of trees, also stumps where a fire 
could easily have been started notwithstanding 
everything was covered with snow ; when he had 
a good fire started, I could have located him by 
the smoke or the light from the fire, and as long 
as he kept the fire burning no wild animal would 
approach him, besides he could have kept himself 
warm, whereas if he had taken refuge in a tree the 
cold winds and falling snow might have chilled 
and benumbed him so thoroughly he would be in 
great danger of falling to the ground and being 
frozen before help could come. I think this in- 
cident taught Dick a good lesson, and I noticed 
that afterwards he kept close to me in the woods 
or where he could follow his own back tracks in 
the snow. 

Friday, Nov. 19. — Breakfast at 7:00 this mom- 



1 6 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

ing, and while eating the same we find our sugar 
pail getting quite alarmingly low, that is not the 
pail but the sugar. This fact leads me to take an 
inventory of our remaining stock of provisions and 
I find the following: 
Bread, six loaves, 

Butter, none, : 

Baking powder, J4 pound. 
Cake, none, 
Coffee, 2j4 pounds, 
Flour, 5 pounds. 
Ham, about 3 pounds, 
Lard, 2 pounds, 
Potatoes, K bushel. 
Pie, none — too bad, 
Pepper and salt, plenty. 
Saturday, Nov. 20. — We have had quite an ad- 
venture today, at least I have, at any rate, and 
tonight dined on venison from a fine large doe 
which I shot this forenoon. Supper has just been 
finished, and a good brisk fire is now crackling in 
the stove while we with lighted pipes are settling 
ourselves into comfortable positions to discuss the 
day's events and while so doing rest our rather 
fatigued bodies, as we have had quite a little hard 
work today. 

After getting a good start this morning, we ob- 
served that in traveling towards the bay, we had 
seen a good number of fresh tracks where the deer 
had crossed the road all along our backward route, 
and I told Dick it looked as though there were 
more deer moving than usual, and as all the tracks 




A. D. SHAFFMASTER, JOURNAL CAMP. 




HAUNTS OF THE DEER. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 17 

had the appearance of being recently made, I 
suggested that we stop and watch this trail awhile. 

I stepped back from the runway about four rods 
to where a good sugar maple offered me a chance 
to conceal my person from the direction of any 
approaching game on the runway. Dick found a 
large hemlock just across on the north side of the 
road and about the same distance back from the 
runway. The sun was shining brightly, and fell 
with diffusing rays upon the surrounding ideal 
forest scene ; not a breath of air was felt or visible 
by as much as a tremulous leaf — only the unfath- 
omed and indescribable silence of the deep 
woods — the gleaming sunshine as it caught and, 
lightning like, flashed for a brief moment, upon the 
darkly polished steel of my rifle and along its 
enameled barrel, served to momentarily draw the 
sweeping gaze of my eye from the surrounding 
scene. 

Scarcely 30 minutes had passed since we had 
taken our positions behind the trees, when on look- 
ing far down along my end of the trail, a moving 
object, just discernable among the trees, caught 
my eye ; instantly I was on the alert ; I had raised 
my crouching figure to obtain a better sight 
of the approaching game, for game it was and of 
the most royal kind. Not for a second did I take 
my eyes from the sight which then slowly but 
surely was developing before me. On he came, 
occasionally half pausing to lower his antlered 
head and sniff the trail before him; presently he 
came into full view as the trail wound round a 



1 8 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

small knoll and a gleam of sunshine shot from the 
polished surface of his massive antlers as he slowly 
turned his head while it was poised high in the 
air. What a picture of self superiority of defiant 
pride. Observing that if I would get a shot at 
all, I must act quickly, I brought my rifle to my 
shoulder, took a quick but cool, careful aim, at a 
spot just under the right foreleg, and fired! The 
sharp crack of the rifle brought him to a standstill, 
and for an instant I could not tell whether I had 
hit him or not; but the next moment he started 
out through the trees on a bound, I pulled the gun 
into line and crack, crack, crack, went the old 
38-55, while in headlong bounds my noble and 
erstwhile game was making towards the fringe of 
thick heavy timber a mile to the south. At the 
sight of my fast escaping game I grew sick and 
faint and my legs shook and quaked so I could 
scarcely keep my position. 

Dick heard the shots, but sat still, thinking 
perhaps the game would come on along the run- 
way and he would get a shot, too, so he did not 
even get a glimpse of my noble buck. After this 
we started in the direction where the buck was 
when I first fired at him, and found on reaching 
his tracks that the distance was about 100 yards, 
through a rather close growth of trees, and in- 
clined a little down hill from where I fired at him. 
On the off side of the buck's tracks lying and 
scattered over the snow was a large bunch of hair 
cut by one of my bullets (probably the first one) 
from the buck's neck; it must have cut it there^ 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 19 

as we figured the problem from all points and could 
come to no other conclusion. The fact that I had 
missed my game after so careful and deliberate 
an aim and had yet cut a bunch of hair from his 
neck after aiming so low as the foreshoulder sud- 
denly shed a great light upon the results of several 
other occasions related, of where I had fired at a 
buck on as many different times and had had the 
mortification and astonishment to see each one 
of them run off as though nothing had happened 
after firing three or four shots at each. Dick 
broke the silence, which, as I gazed most ruefully 
at that bunch of long thick hair, was exceedingly 

profound, and said: " If that d gun of yours 

had been sighted right you'd have killed him and 
the other three you lost before this." I felt the 
truth and force of Dick's blunt words keenly, for 
this last shot had opened my eyes to a heretofore 
unsolved mystery, and the facts stood out plain 
and unquestionable — / had shot over and missed 
four of the finest bucks that ever stood on four feet, 
and all within two weeks' time, and every one of them 
should and could have been killed in his tracks 
had the gun put the ball where I had aimed it. 
It was a new rifle that I had, and one I had never 
shot a dozen times until I came into the woods. 
This taught me a profound and lasting lesson, and 
from that moment I determined if I had another 
opportunity, that I would aim low enough to 
fetch down my game or know the reason why. 
The opportunity came sooner than I anticipated, 
and in less than two hours from that time I was 



20 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

bending over the prostrate form of one of the 
largest and finest does I had ever seen and the 
first deer I ever killed. How did I get her? Well, 
it's easily told. 

After we had made a fruitless attempt to track 
up the buck that I had shot at, we separated about 
half a mile south of the road, and I started on 
another track while Dick retraced his steps towards 
the scene of our first adventure of a short time 
previous. After I had wandered around through 
the woods for about an hour, I started out towards 
the road, but not having kept strict account of 
my bearings, I did not know just what direction 
to take, so kept going and looking out for the 
opening where ran the road. 

Suddenly and without the faintest sign of the 
proximity of game, a deer's head bounded up from 
the ground right in front of me and about 50 yards 
distance. I did not stop to analyze the subject 
of how the head came there or anything of the 
kind, but quick as a wink the rifle bounded to 
my shoulder, and with the silent warning and ad- 
monition of a short two hours ago to hold low, I 
drew a bead on the immovable and clear cut head 
before me, and then lowering the gun until the 
neck of the animal showed through the rear sight, 
I pressed the trigger. It was all over quicker 
than I can tell it; but there was a second surprise 
for me at the same moment. When the rifle 
cracked, down went the game that I had fired at, 
and instantly there sprang into view, the slim, 
symmetrical form of another deer, perhaps 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 21 

two-thirds grown, which had been lying on 
the ground only a few feet from where the 
other one then lay dying with a mortal wound, 
the ball having struck it in the right eye and torn 
the inside of the head to pieces. Fragments of 
bone and brains were scattered over the snow 
nearby, and as Dick said when on first viewing 
the dead doe: "No wonder that deer died, just 
see that hole in her head." 

But to return to the other one, as soon as I had 
fired at number one and instantly saw it go down, 
I worked the lever, throwing a new cartridge in 
the barrel and prepared to shoot again if I saw any 
chance of the game attempting to escape, but 
before I could note whether another shot was 
needed or not to keep my game quiet and safe 
for me, number two had bounded to its feet and 
stood, mutely and astonishingly regarding me from 
a slight knoll 50 or 60 yards away. Up came the 
rifle to my shoulder, and crack, crack, crack went 
three shots in quick succession, while from my 
position, not having stirred from my tracks since 
shooting the first one, I caught a faint glimpse of 
a phantom-like, brownish-gray streak vanishing 
with the rapidity of a streak of lightning through 
the vista of scattered timber in the distance. Then 
I paused and said something you could not find 
in the dictionary, meanwhile my first one was 
stone dead, as I found on approaching her. 

Monday, Nov. 22. — Up at 6 this morning, and 
breakfast finished, we hustled around and made 
ready for our departure. We have to carry our 



22 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

camp outfit and deer through the woods over a 
mile to where the main road intersects with the 
one on which we have been camping. It is now 
10:30 a. m., and I have just come out from camp 
with the last load, our stove, which we thought 
first we would leave in the woods, but finding we 
had time to spare, I volunteered to go back after it. 

Concerning this hunt there isn't much more to 
tell, except that we reached Eckerman in the even- 
ing of the 2 2d and, with a number of other hunters, 
took the train for Soo Junction, where we changed 
for St. Ignace thence across the straits to Mackinaw 
City and arrived home safe and sound on the after- 
noon of the 23d day of November, having been 
absent just three weeks, and enjoyed the outing 
and its various incidents immensely. 

The deer which I shot was shipped home by ex- 
press, and arrived in Bronson the day following 
our arrival. The cause of its delay seemed plain 
enough to me, as when it was loaded into the car 
at Eckerman, there was at least 10 or 15 other 
deer carcasses put in at the same time, and before 
the train had reached St. Ignace, the express car 
was filled to the very roof with deer; it was a 
grand sight for the sportsman to behold, and 
could not help but send the sporting blood tingling 
through one's veins as one contemplated the spec- 
tacle and ruminated on the scenes and transpiring 
events which must have occurred to bring each 
and every one of those beautiful inanimate animals 
from its home in the heart of the deep forest. 



SECOND ANNUAL HUNT 
Chapter II 

She scorned the praise of beauty, and the care; 
A belt her waist, a fillet binds her hair; 
A painted quiver on her shoulder sounds. 
And with her dart the flying deer she wounds. 

— Pope's Windsor Forest. 

The editor and George H. Brown, an old timer 
and buffalo hunter, left Bronson Nov. lo, 1898, and 
arrived in Eckerman the following day. Although 
a man past the prime of life, the old buffalo 
hunter had the vigor of youth stamped on his face, 
the agility of an Indian, and the cunning of a wolf. 
It was with this old timer of the plains, who had 
spent ten years of his life on the border, hunting the 
buffalo, deer, antelope, bear, lion, wolf and other 
game, and dodging Indians, that the author received 
his first real lessons in the art of still hunting big 
game, and his success afterward he attributes 
much to that careful training and joyous camp 
companionship of the old buffalo hunter. 

For our camping place we selected a spot 13 
miles north and west of the station. This would 
place us about three miles west from my camping 
place with Mr. Addicks of last year. We arrived 
at the camping place, which was near a group of 
small lakes, about 11 in the forenoon. Our goods 
were unloaded, and the teamster drove away and 
left us alone with the trees and wild animals for 

23 



24 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

daily companions. Not a human soul except 
ourselves, within six or eight miles of us. 

Our camping-place was an open space some five 
rods square, on the summit of a hill just off the 
road a few yards. We found a small trail which 
led down over the hill until it reached a little gem 
of a lake, only about 30 or 40 rods away, where we 
should get water to cook with. After getting the 
tent up and stakes all down, I took a pail and 
started down the trail towards the lake for water. 
There was, as I have previously mentioned, a little 
snow on the ground, which made tracking quite 
feasible, but not exactly plain. However, while 
descending the trail until I reached the edge of the 
lake, I had noticed in coming down a number of 
deer tracks made the previous night or in the 
early morning. On reaching the lake and glancing 
over its slightly congealed surface white with snow, 
I was surprised to find such a tiny but sylvan gem 
in these woods; the prospect was entrancing to a 
sportsman, and stepping carefully along the outer 
edge, I contemplated the scene with silent but 
deep admiration. Glancing down at my feet, I 
was astonished to find the freshly made tracks of a 
good big bear, and following the tracks with my 
eye, I could trace his large, open trail entirely 
around the lake. Finding a clear spot in the ice, I 
broke it open with my hatchet, and filling my pail 
with clear, sparkling water, started up the hill in 
a hurry. When I reached the camp I caught sight 
of George, running towards the northeast part of 




EAST AND WEST ROAD. 




GEORGE BROWN, JOURNAL CAMP. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 25 

the hill, rifle in hand, and bounding over the fallen 
trees with the ease and agility of an Indian. I 
wondered what he was after, and fearing to scare 
the game, if any, did not hail him. 

After reaching the tent, I glanced around and 
saw George approaching, a smile on his face and 
eyes sparkling. When asked what he had seen, he 
replied that just after I had gone towards the lake, 
he thought he heard something running north- 
east just below the hill, and had grabbed his rifle 
and ran out in that direction to see if he could catch 
a glimpse of the animal, if any, but did not see 
anything. As soon as he related this to me, I 
told him about the fresh bear tracks I had seen 
around the lake, and together we went down the 
path to investigate. When nearly down the hill 
and in sight of the lake, I discovered the bear track 
up the same hill coming from the direction of the 
lake, and headed northeast, and as it was the same 
track I had seen below, we concluded the bear was 
down there prowling around until he heard us at 
the camp, and then he ran up over the hill, and this 
is what George heard running a few minutes before. 

The day was pleasant, with sunshine most of the 
time, and we worked like beavers getting our tent 
and stove up and unpacking our goods. About 
one o'clock we stopped long enough to snatch a bite 
of cold lunch, after which George said he would 
take his rifle and go out in the woods a little while, 
while I finished arranging things about the camp. 
I got the stove set up, and then took the axe and 



26 Hunting tn the Land of Hiawatha; 

cut some dry maple from a tree which had been 
felled long enough to be well seasoned. There was 
an abundance of beech, maple and birch wood near 
the camp, and all dry and easy to cut, so I soon had 
a good pile of wood in the tent and a cracking fire 
in the stove. 

Grouse or partridge were very plenty, and every 
day we saw many and could have shot a great num- 
ber, but only clipped the heads off a few near the 
camp. They were the finest eating we ever tasted, 
having a peculiarly fine, gamey flavor not usually 
found in the partridge of the lower peninsula. 

About the third or fourth day of camp life, George 
mixed up his first batch of flapjacks, remarking at 
the time that it reminded him of his old life on the 
plains in the buffalo hunting days of '71. How- 
ever, he soon proved that his hand had not lost its 
cunning, as he tossed up the flapper into the air 
with the ease of a Hindoo juggler, turning it in the 
air and dropping it into the pan with a flop, 
browned side up, every time. Such flapjacks I 
never enjoyed before, light and browned to a turn. 
Spread with good home dairy butter, a layer of 
sugar (George never used the sweet stuff, he said), 
they were delicious, indeed. Three or four days 
had passed, yet we had not had a shot at a deer, 
when George came in one evening, with fire in his 
eyes, and told how he had just a few moments 
before, caught sight of the biggest buck he had ever 
seen, but the old fellow only showed himself for a 
moment, just long enough to show off his fine, large, 



or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 27 

rounded form, branching antlers, and then, with 
one mighty bound, was out of sight in the woods 
like a flash. George sighed heavily, and filled his 
pipe, and with lighted match in his hand, continued 
his story, and told what he would do to that buck 
if ever he saw him again. 

During the night several inches of snow had 
fallen, and on stepping forth from the tent that 
morning we found there was good tracking. George 
started north and west, while I struck out east for 
the stage route, to mail a letter and bring back 
mail. 

Although we tramped over miles of territory that 
day, scarcely a fresh deer track could be seen, and 
we concluded that the game had taken shelter 
from the storm in the big swamp or in the thick 
clumps of hemlock far back in the woods. Both 
returned to camp near evening, tired and some- 
what discouraged from the day's hunt. A brisk 
fire soon cast a glow of warmth and comfort around 
us, and a big appetizing supper, consisting of boiled 
potatoes, fried onions, grouse, fried in butter and 
big flaky flapjacks, and rich coffee, put us in good 
humor and cheered our dampened spirits. 

During that night and the next day a large lum- 
bering camp moved in right near us, and as we 
learned they were going to lumber all winter in 
that vicinity, we became thoroughly disgusted, and 
decided to move. 

During the next two days we did nothing except 
to make arrangements for moving, and in looking 



28 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

up another camping site, which George discov- 
ered some three and a half miles south and west. 
We were soon moved and our tent set up for the 
second time. 

The location was a splendid one, at least five 
miles from any other hunter's camp, and far enough 
from our late lumbermen friends to keep silence be- 
tween us. It was right on the edge of the great 
swamp and where the line of hardwood ended, so 
we had both hardwood and swamp ground for 
hunting, as well as plenty of good dry beech, maple 
and birch trees handy for fuel ; good water we found 
only a few rods from the tent. There was an 
abundance of signs of game all around us. That 
afternoon, towards evening, it was a dark and 
cloudy day, the sky betokening snow, George was 
cleaning a freshly-killed grouse near the tent, when 
he heard the long-drawn out howl of a big timber 
wolf, about eighty rods away, out in the swamps. 
This made the blood tingle through our veins, and 
we looked forward anxiously to the morning when 
we would start out. 

Before the first rays of light swept across the east- 
ern horizon and had half a chance to penetrate the 
forest seclusion of our camping site, we were up and 
had toasted ourselves by the side of a good hot fire, 
which was from time to time replenished with 
sticks of good dry maple cut from seasoned trees 
the evening previous. The never-failing coffee pot 
had boiled until its savory odor, escaping from the 
singing vessel, filled the tent with richest aroma. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 29 

A hot flapjack for myself and a pint of hot, rich 
coffee, with a good lump of butter added and sugar 
to sweeten to the taste, and I was buckling on my 
belt, feeling for reserve cartridges in my hunting- 
coat pockets, and ascertaining at the same time the 
location of my pipe and tobacco. I was just pre- 
paratory to stepping from the tent, but first most 
critically examining my rifle — let her slip out a 
cartridge to see if it was loaded and the action was 
perfect, then I was ready for the start. George 
never eats anything for breakfast, and I believe 
that he must belong to the anti-breakfast society; 
a swallow or two of coffee is all he wants, and grab- 
bing his rifle he goes through much the same per- 
formance as myself as to examining its work- 
ings, and placing any possible doubt as to whether 
it is loaded and in perfect working order at an end 
by throwing back the lever until the poHshed brass 
shell and soft-nosed bullet is plainly seen, then clos- 
ing the lever with a satisfied snap, he sweeps aside 
the flap of the tent, steps forth softly, pauses a mo- 
ment on the outer edge to look and Hsten, then, 
before I have time to take a second glimpse, his 
stalwart form noiselessly slips away into the semi- 
darkness of approaching dawn and is lost in the 
shadows of the great trees which surround us. 

After fruitlessly walking a good many miles, and 
seeing nothing, I started for camp, and getting 
there just before dusk. That evening we went over 
the events of the day. George had been west sev- 
eral miles and then turned north. He said that 



30 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

after leaving me in slashing, and when he had been 
gone on his way an hour, he heard the cry of a pan- 
ther a little south of where we separated, and per- 
haps two miles west. 

"Say, old man," I exclaimed, "you must be mis- 
taken, as I don't think there are any panthers 
here," but George replied: "Al, I know that cry 
too well; I've listened to 'em many and many a 
time on the plains in the old buffalo days of '7 1 , and 
it was the regular shriek of a big cat or panther. 
We called them lions, mountain lions in the West, 
and they are mighty cunnin', too; one night one 
sneaked up to our tent and stole a forequarter of 
freshly- killed venison from under my saddle, which 
I was using for a pillow, and although he only had 
to draw it from underneath the edge of the tent and 
slip it away from underneath my saddle, I should 
have heard him, but didn't. The next morning we 
could see his trail where he came and went off to- 
wards the hills very plainly. I tell you, Al, this is 
a wild country, miles from any settlement, and 
when you can go out and see deer, wolf, lynx and 
bear tracks all around you as we can, there is a 
pretty good likelihood of there being some pan- 
thers here. Anyway, I'll swear that I heard one 
scream three or four times today, and I had a no- 
tion to go back to you and warn you of what I had 
heard, but I knew you were well armed, and al- 
though you might not hear a cat scream or know it 
was approaching you, I felt pretty sure that you 
would be on the lookout for anything moving, and 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 31 

get the drop on him with that 30-30 of yours before 
he could reach you; but Al, I want you to be sure 
and get in nights before dark, or I shall be wor- 
ried." 

After listening to George's earnest words of warn- 
ing, I told him that I guessed it would be just as 
well if both of us got to camp before night set in, 
and in future, panther or no panther, I should keep 
a sharp lookout when passing under trees, and es- 
pecially where a lynx or cat could spring down onto 
its prey. 

While we were thus talking, and our pipes 
had been filled and refilled once or twice, 
George suddenly raised himself on his elbow, at 
the same instant saying "Hark," and raised'his 
arm in a cautionary movement, inclined his head 
slightly, while we both remained motionless and 
perfectly quiet for a full minute. Then, raising 
himself from the bed where he had been reclining at 
full length on the blankets, he cautiously ap- 
proached the flap, and drawing it carefully aside, 
stepped forth. Calling to me to look out ; a second 
later I did so, and found the surrounding scene one 
of beauty, indeed. The storm clouds had passed 
over, and the moon, almost full, was shining 
brightly, while all around was nearly as light as day. 
It was an entrancing scene, and we stood with un- 
covered heads under the shadow of the giant trees 
silently admiring this moonlit forest scene. After 
we had retreated back into the tent, George said: 
"Seemed just so to me when I told you to listen 



32 Hunting in the Laitd of Hiaivatha; 

that I heard something or other a-runnin' round 
this tent, and that's why I stopped you talking, but 
I don't see or hear anything. In the morning, Al, 
just look for tracks and see if anything did come 
near us, will you?" 

' ' Of course I will , " I replied , and in a few moments 
we were both snugly tucked away in our woolen 
blankets, with each trusty rifle on either side of us. 

The following morning we were up early, and 
ready for a start before the break of day, but con- 
cluded not to start out until we could see the sights 
on our guns, as the moon had then gone down and 
it was quite dark. 

Getting tired of walking around and seeing no 
game, I turned towards the camp, which I reached 
about II in the forenoon. After building a fire, I 
bethought me of what George suggested the pre- 
vious evening about looking for tracks near the 
tent, so took a little circle around to see for my- 
self. About three rods to the south of the tent, 
in an old logging road leading into the swamp, I 
could distinguish tracks of some kind made in the 
early part of the previous evening, bending down 
and looking at them steadily I could see very plain- 
ly that they were wolf tracks, and following up 
the trail a little further, the tracks became more 
numerous, and a regular path was beaten in the 
center of the road. There was a big pine tree 
lying across the road about i6 or 17 rods from the 
tent, and when I came up to it, I could see the 
foot-prints of the wolves on its upward side, and 




CEDAR CAMP— GROUP XO. 




CEDAR CAMP— GROUP NO. 2. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 33 

also noted with some astonishment that the snow 
was all melted off and hardly packed down on one 
favorite spot on the tree where the wolves had 
evidently sat in the cold moonlight watching our 
tent during the hours when we slept, all uncon- 
scious of the fact that game was actually within a 
few rods of us and sitting on that log and calcu- 
lating the chances of getting a square meal. We 
kept the lantern burning, so that every movement 
in the canvas tent could plainly be seen, as our 
shadows were distinctly outlined wherever we 
stood up or moved about. Walking back towards 
the tent, I found tracks within 30 feet of where 
lay our innocent heads during the night. 

This last discovery was an eye opener to me, 
and right there I made up my mind that it was 
wolves that George had heard running near the 
tent the night before. I ground my teeth in silent 
rage at the unparalleled audacity of these gaunt 
creatures that infested these woods in daring to 
come right under our very noses, and be off with- 
out our ever seeing one. As near as I could judge 
by the numerous tracks and size of foot-prints 
there were at least half a dozen or more in the 
gang, and one was a monster, too ; his track showed 
a foot-print fully four inches through each way, 
and his steps were two feet apart, showing what a 
long-legged, monster he must have been. 

That evening after George returned we discussed 
the wolf question, and decided then and there that 
it would scarcely be healthy for more of these 



34 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

brutes to come prowling around our tent by moon- 
light while we were around. Neither of us had 
seen a deer that day, but both had seen numerous 
fresh tracks, and we promised ourselves a deer to 
hang up before night, at least George said that he 
was going to get one sure. 

We were up early the next morning, and found 
the snow nearly gone again, there having been a 
thaw, in fact there was no tracking as the earth 
was bare. George got away with blood in his eye, 
and said he was going west towards the river. As 
usual I went north on the old road and spent several 
hours watching for any deer that might cross. 
These roads make a good place to stand and watch, 
as one can see a half mile each way in most places. 
Nothing more than those pesky little red squirrels 
came near me, and it seemed as though the woods 
were full of them. They would come right up to 
my bootleg, stop, look, turn and run off a few 
yards, then stand up and chatter; such a lot of 
scolding as one big fellow did give me, I almost 
felt like throwing a stick at him, because he made 
so much noise. 

About lo that morning I returned to camp, 
somewhat discouraged, and was about to kindle a 
fire, when a small piece of manila paper stuck in 
the slide of the lantern, caught my eye. This is 
what I read: "Al, I have killed one. Take the 
north road to where it turns east and then come 
north until you find me." 

The paper dropped from my fingers in a hurry. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 35 

and I grabbed up my rifle and started up the north 
road as George had directed me. It was about a 
mile and a half's walk, and before I had approached 
within 150 yards of the place, I could easily make 
out the form of a big buck lying in the road. I 
was soon on the spot, and examining the wound, 
which had considerable interest for me, as Geerge 
was carrying my 30-30 smokeless Marlin, and this 
being the first deer hit with this modern gun while 
in our hands, I felt some curiosity to see the effect 
of the shot. George soon came out of the woods 
nearby, a broad smile on his face and a merry 
twinkle in his eye, and approaching the noble game 
— a beautiful ten point buck — which, even in death, 
looked majestic and inspiring. To my question 
as to how he got him, George smiled, rolled his 
chew into the other jaw, and replied: "I was 
coming along on the north road about 7 130 when, 
as I got right here, I saw something move just a 
little off there to the left in that thick brush; I 
stopped in my tracks and looked again, and could 
just make out a brownish-gray spot about 4x5 
inches through the thicket, and said to myself, 
(mentally, of course), 'now that's a deer, sure,' but 
what part of him I was looking at I didn't know. 
Squaring around I slowly drew up the little 30-30, 
ran my eye along the barrel until I caught a good 
bead right on the center of that suspicious looking 
spot and pressed the trigger. Before the gun crack- 
ed there was a tumble of the game that I never 
have seen equaled, not even when I used the old 



36 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

50 Sharps in the buffalo days. Say, Al, I would 
have given $5 if you could have stood here and 
seen him go down. If that buck had been a fat 
steer in a slaughter pen and struck with an iron 
maul in the forehead his feet would never have 
went out from under him any quicker; down he 
went all in a heap, and though he tried to stagger 
to his knees, he could not do it. I saw he was 
suffering terribly, the blood gushed from the wound 
in his neck, and in mercy I shot him through the 
brain to end his misery. The look of human re- 
proach that he gave me out of those great brown, 
liquid eyes of his, almost broke me down, and for 
a moment or two, I confess Al, enthusiastic hunter 
as I am, I almost regretted that I had killed him. 
But as the remembrance of days I had spent in 
hunting him, and, cold and hungry and tired, to 
return each night to camp almost despondent, and 
without even a shot, flashed through my mind, 
and my eye took in, with glowing pride, the fine 
round form, the perfect antlers, and his noble 
breast, I was a hunter again, and could not help 
but gloat over my noble prize, the finest buck I 
ever killed." 

"And what do you think of the little 30-30, 
now? " I asked, as we both drew a few feet away 
to take a seat on a fallen tree near the roadside. 

"Why, Al, when I first started out with that 
rifle, I called it a pop-gun, good to shoot red squirrels 
or grouse, but never expected to kill a deer with 
it; you know I wanted to change guns with you 



or. The Huntiyig Trips of an Editor 37 

just for luck. But I'll tell you right now, that's 
the strongest shooting gun I ever held to my 
shoulder, and I have held some of the best. She's 
a bird of a gun, and I would not be afraid to face 
even a grizzly with it now." 

As there was no snow on the ground, we had a 
pretty lively tug, dragging the buck down to camp, 
about a mile and a half. At last, we had him there, 
and soon succeeded in suspending him from a pole, 
which was propped up against two big pines, and 
here he hung, until we started for home. Say, ye 
lovers of the game of game, and the mystic charm 
of the forest, you should have been there to dine 
with us that evening. Such a feast was never (to 
our minds) set before two hungry hunters, for 
you remember we had not tasted food nor drink 
since before daylight that morning. It was just 
a little before dusk when our task of hanging up 
the buck was completed, then George began to 
swing the axe around pretty Hvely, and the hard 
maple and dry birch chips flew through the air 
like hailstones, while I hurried to the spring (a few 
yards in the woods), to get our supply of water 
for the night. A crackling fire made grotesque 
shadows dance along the walls of the tent, while 
the lantern cast a soft amber light over all from 
its high position on the center pole, where it was 
suspended by about two feet of wire and swung 
back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. 

Such an appetizing odor as filled our snug canvas 
home that night makes me hungry just to think of 



38 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

it — the rich aroma of the boihng coffee mingled 
with the irrestible odor of frying venison, and the 
steam from the hot frying pan as George flipped 
the browned, flaky flapjacks into the air, all drifted 
up together to the walls of canvas above us. We 
drew our camp-stools up to the table, (an upturned 
dry goods box, about 2x2x4 feet), and well — to 
use the expression of the waifs of the street, we 
didn't *'do a 'ting to the layout' before us." 

It was 10:30 the next morning before we met, 
after leaving the tent together before dayHght, and 
I had been up the north road watching the different 
crossing places, while George had been in west a 
couple of miles. I was returning to camp along 
the north road, when I came to a place where the 
road was tracked up as though a flock of sheep had 
crossed there. I counted five or six different 
tracks, all going east, then I walked along a few 
paces and discovered George's tracks in the wake 
of the fleeing deer. So when we met on the road 
a little ways below I knew that while I had been 
up the road about a half mile watching for game, 
George had driven six deer across below. George 
was in a bad humor, and I managed to gather 
enough information from him to find out that he 
had gone west about two miles, and driven out 
about a dozen deer, mostly does and fawns, he 
thought, but did not see the game, except an occa- 
sional glimpse of a flag way ahead through the 
thick woods and brush, impossible tp shoot at, of 
course. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 39 

He followed the flock, a ways, then they broke 
and scattered, six of them going east, and the rest 
west. He tracked six up across the north road, 
and said: 

" I knew I was getting pretty near the north road, 
and that you were probably somewhere along there, 
and I just held my breath when the gang ahead 
of me kept right along in that direction. Every 
moment I expected to hear your rifle but was 
keenly disappointed on reaching the road, and 
found the deer had crossed unmolested and that 
you were nowhere's in sight." 

We went to camp and cooked dinner, then started 
again. We went back up the north foad and 
George took the tracks of the six deer and followed 
them east about a mile and a half. I also went 
north and east, but was a mile or two north of 
where George was working. About 2 130 I was 
returning down the north road having seen nothing 
but tracks, when I espied George seated on a log 
50 yards below. When I had approached him, 
he jumped up and said: 

"Well, I've killed a small one." 
"Good," I exclaimed, "where is it?" 
"About a mile and a half from here," he replied, 
indicating with a wave of his hand the direction, 
due east. We started on his back tracks and in 
half an hour I was bending over the still warm 
body of a fine four-pronged buck, which would 
weigh 175 or 200 pounds. 

" I thought you said it was a small one," I said. 



40 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

"Well, it is a small one," he replied, "ain't it?" 

"Not at all, it's a dandy, George, and such a 
fine noble head and well formed antlers. He is 
nearly as large as the big five-pronged we have 
hung up at camp." 

The snow was crimsoned with blood where the 
buck lay, and a trail of blood was plainly visible 
where George had dragged him after he fell. 

While we were preparing to hang him up and 
dress him, George related the exciting narrative 
of his lucky shot, the best one, he said, he had ever 
made, which brought down the buck. 

While engaged in hanging up the game, George 
told the story of the lucky shot, about as follows: 

"After following the six deer about two or three 
miles, first east then north, and finally south, I 
suddenly came upon the tracks of this buck. The 
track was very fresh, and I decided to leave the 
others and follow this one. He was going south 
on a walk, and I knew by his actions that he was 
hunting a soft and cozy spot to lay down after his 
morning's meal, therefore I watched his zigzag 
trail pretty closely ; the snow was the best tracking 
of the day, but I knew if ever I got sight of the 
fellow I would have to go slow, and keep my eyes 
open. At half a dozen different places he had 
pawed away the snow and thrashed over the leaves 
to find a suitable place to lay down, but for some 
reason, he kept going on through old dead tree 
tops, under small hemlocks and over brush and 
logs; I following as still as a cat the last 80 rods, 




CEDAR CAMP— AXEMEN. 







j 




i 




i3k ^ 


a,. 






lin 


■B^B il. ' 


M 






H 




mk 


iJ 


*,^ 


^"ita|P8B 


d 


■ 


n 




^ ^ 


tP 


Ta 




^ 







HOMEWARD BOUND. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 41 

never lifted my feet from the ground, but shoved 
them through the snow, and Hterally felt my way 
along with my toes — more than a dozen times I 
almost held my breath when I stepped on a stick 
for fear it would crack, and I would lift my foot 
from it as suddenly as though it was an Qgg or a 
hot iron I was treading on. Around, Hke a letter 
S went my game, and at last I knew I was pretty 
near him — felt sure of it, and I was ready. I 
held the old 38-55 in my hands, cocked and ready 
to shoot at the first movement and it came mighty 
sudden, too. Feeling my way ahead thus care- 
fully, suddenly a big ball of grayish-brown, orna- 
mented with a fine pair of antlers, bounded into 
space about 10 rods to my left. I stopped as quick 
as I could, and drew up my rifle all at the same 
instant, the buck had made one jump and was 
just bounding into the air about 10 feet high, it 
seemed, when I caught a Hne sight, and pulled the 
trigger. 

"The sharp crack of the rifle lost itself in the 
thick woods, and as I glanced along the Hne of 
his retreat, I caught one glimpse of my game still 
a-going. 

'"Well, I'll be d d,' says I to myself, *I 

never touched him.' But just to see which way 
he went, I concluded to follow a short distance. 
I soon had his tracks, and followed it about 15 
rods from the place where I fired at him; at first 
I could not see a sign of the game being hit, but 
on going 10 rods further, I saw a small drop of 



42 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

blood on the snow — but hardly believed it was made 
by my bullet — still looking far ahead in the direc- 
tion of the trail, I saw where he had slowed down 
to a walk, and thought it was rather cool of him 
to walk away from me in this style, a few steps 
farther along, a glance at my feet so astonished 
me that I stopped short in my tracks and simply 
stared at the sight I beheld. There he lay, the 
snow all crimsoned with blood, and not over 20 
feet from me. 'Dead,' did you say? Well, I 
should say so, as dead as Julius Caesar, and when 
I approached and laid my hand on his rounded 
sides, at the slightest pressure, the blood spurted 
from a round bullet hole in his left side, turning 
him over, found I had hit him just below the 
paunch, on his right side; bullet had passed through 
his lungs, and came out just back of fore shoulder 
— drilled a hole right through him." 

"It was a crack shot, George, and no mistake," 
I replied, after eagerly listening to his story, "and 
I don't see how you could follow him so far as you 
did and not even crack a twig; it was the work of 
a sure-enough-hunter, and as good a piece of skill 
in still hunting and quick, unerring shooting as I 
ever came across." To this little piece of really 
deserved flattery, George simply smiled, wiped the 
knife blade on his boot top, dried it on the palm 
of his big hand, and handed it back to me with 
the remark: 

"Well, Al, old boy, how will a little fresh venison 
taste after this day's work?" 



or, TJie Hunting Trips of an Editor 43 

We returned to camp, loaded with venison, and 
began active preparations for supper. 

The evening came on apace, and was ushered 
in by a glorious full moon, which flooded the open 
places with light almost as clear as day; it was 
perfectly still, with quite crisp air. The scene 
around was so alluring that I decided to go out 
by moonlight for a couple of hpurs. Leaving 
George to toast himself before the] fire and enjoy 
his pipe, I took my rifle and started up the north 
road. 

I would I could command fitting language to 
describe the beautiful scene around. I have stood 
under the soft and melting beams of silvery light 
radiating from a beautiful full moon, set in the 
clearest of far-famed Virginia skies — have felt the 
inspiration which fills the soul of the lowly negro 
with delight and brings to his lips a song, as rich 
in melody as the mocking-bird's tremulous note, 
and which trembles on his lips as dew-drops on 
the grasses at his feet ; I have viewed with enchant- 
ment, the opalescent beauty of a calm and placid 
sea under the sheen of a semi-tropical moon, and 
looked upon other scenes where Luna was goddess 
of the night, but none could compare with this 
beautiful winter night scene in the North Country, 
No murmurings of human voices, no sound, save 
the soft rustling of some frosted leaf, moved by 
the breath of night. All earth seemed transformed 
into a fairyland of snowy whiteness, over which 
reigned the august stillness of death, millions of 



44 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

scintillating gems sparked on twig and bush and 
leaf, and the immaculate crust of snow, which, 
like a vast mantle of crystallized gems, covered the 
earth, and seemed to reflect back the light from 
above. 

I felt enraptured at the scene, and scarce dared 
tread upon a twig for fear of breaking the solemn 
stillness of the hour. Here was Nature clothed in 
her garb of purest white, bedecked with jewels a 
thousand times more brilliant than precious gems. 
The giant pines around were robed in garments 
of white, their lofty tops surmounted with grace- 
ful clinging formations from the snowy world. 
Every star seemed to shine with added light, and 
not a cloud in all the heavens. Again and again 
I paused along the road, and tried to assure my- 
self I was looking for game, but I could not shake 
off the mystic spell that held me, and the more I 
pondered on the theme, the more I became con- 
vinced that it would be sacrilege, indeed, to break 
the charmed spell with the cruel crack of my rifle, 
even should a deer be seen, therefore after enjoy- 
ing the beautiful moonlight forest scene, I began 
to retrace my steps towards camp. 

The following day we left for home. Thus end- 
ed our Second Annual Hunt, and for us both one 
of the most enjoyable times of our lives, and on 
reaching home safely, we felt as though we had 
been given a new lease of life, and exhibited such 
appetites that our families were simply scared. 



THIRD ANNUAL HUNT 
Chapter III 

There is a pleasure in the pathless wood«: 

ThIJe !.' I '^P'r^ °e ^^« fineirsh^re?'^'' 
Ihere is a society where none intrudes. 

— Byron. 
IN CAMP. 

Here we are in the heart of the grand old forest 
again. The year that has passed since last we en- 
joyed the delights that come to the enthusiastic 
hunter and Nature lover indeed seems a short 
one, but It IS past, and new scenes unfold them- 
selves to us each day. 

We arrived in Eckerman on November 2 and 
found that a very nice, new hotel had been erected 
on the spot occupied by the old log one where we 
stopped last year. So we put up for the night at 
this new hotel, and found everything neat and 
clean and very comfortable. 

About 7 the following morning we got started 
having just a fair load, George and Cell going on 
ahead afoot. The morning was frosty and clear 
—a nice pleasant day following. We had decided 
to go to the old camping place of the year before 
north and west about thirteen miles. When about 
six miles out and just after we got through the 
big swamp, a bolt in the tongue of the wagon drop- 
ped out and before the teamster could stop his 
horses, the front wheel on the left side of the wagon 



46 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

went into the ditch with the result that the right 
front axle, a poor wooden affair, was broken off. 
This was a most disagreeable dilemma and no way 
could we see to fix it up. So the teamster started 
back for another wagon, while George and Cell 
went on ahead afoot to cut out the road if neces- 
sary, where trees had fallen across the track. 

The teamster returned about 2 130 in the after- 
noon; we unloaded the goods and placed them on 
the fresh wagon, which proved to be a dilapidated 
affair, about as poor as the first one. We arrived 
at the camping place, near Al's lake, where we 
camped first the year before, at dark, having had 
to stop several times to tie up the broken parts of 
the wheezy old wagon and thereby lost lots of 
time. 

Night having overtaken us, we stopped and 
made a temporary camp at the lake by the log- 
ging camps, occupying one of the old log buildings 
to sleep in that night. 

George built a big fire alongside of an old pine 
log and we got up a nice lunch from the remnants 
of our lunches on the train and made some coffee, 
and after smoking our pipes around the big blazing 
logs for an hour or two, turned in and made a bed 
with our blankets in one of the old camps. 

We awoke the next morning, feeling refreshed 
despite the mishaps of the previous day, and then 
we decided to remain where we were, while the 
teamster hitched up his team and started for home. 

Breakfast was cooked in the open air, and par- 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 47 

taken of, after which we went to work and cleaned 
out one of the smallest of the log camps that had 
been used for an office, for our use, deciding that 
would be much more comfortable than a tent. 

We had grouse for dinner, as Cell had shot five 
coming in the day before. There seems to be any 
number of these fine game birds in the woods here 
this year, as the boys said they saw many more 
that they did not shoot. 

While working near the camp this afternoon, I 
saw a big, fine grouse about 30 feet from camp; 
got Cell's gun and shot it. Two others flew out 
near the spot at the report of the gun. 

Went out to the stage road today (Saturday, 
Nov. 4), and met two other hunters, a Mr. McCall 
and companion of Mancelona, Mich. They are 
camped about five miles southeast of us, and are 
our nearest neighbors. One of them had just 
found the rusty barrel of an old rifle, lying in the 
leaves and dirt near a deer path in the woods. 
I took it and examined it carefully, and told him 
that in all probability the spot where he found it 
marked the scene of some long past and unknown 
tragedy — as it is too well known that a man never 
leaves his gun in the woods while he is alive. The 
old barrel was rusty and was an inch or two longer 
than our repeating rifles, stocks and all. The bore 
was at least 50 calibre and it was an old timer, 
sure. How it came there, how long it had been 
there, who it belonged to, will no doubt forever 
remain a deep mystery. 



48 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

Sunday, Nov. 5. — Hung out my thermometer 
today. A little snow last night; but a pleasant 
day. Saw two deer in the woods today while 
taking a walk. George and Cell also report seeing 
several deer. 

Monday, Nov. 6. — Ice formed in basins last 
night, and thermometer indicated 42 above zero 
in the middle of the day. A little cold snap but 
it did not last, as the weather continued warm 
during the day. 

Tuesday, Nov. 7. — I went out to postoffice to- 
day. Our postoffice is a wooden box nailed on a 
tree on the stage road, where the stage driver 
leaves our mail. We have the following written 
on the lid of the box: 
A. D. Shaff master. 
George Brown. 
M. M. Clark. 
Camp 2 miles west. 

This is the proper thing to do up here, as all 
who see and read it know where there is a hunter's 
camp and who is in the camp. 

Wednesday, Nov. 8. — Up before dawn today and 
started for the woods. The day opened with fog 
and mist, and was too warm to hunt. I saw a big 
buck, but he was walking fast through the thick 
brush, and I only got one glimpse of him, so could 
not shoot. George shot at a big doe this morning, 
but missed her. Cell went out to the postoffice 
with letters for home. This evening George came 




GEORGE BROWN AND sso-LB. BUCK. 




McNEARUF'S HOME ON TAH-OUA-ME-XON RIVER. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 49 

in and reported that he had killed a fine young 
buck over south. This evening as we were pre- 
paring our supper, a small, white weasel or ermine 
(putorious erminea) made his appearance in camp, 
darting across the floor like a miniature meteor. 
He is a cute little fellow and so pretty. His eyes 
are almost red, his fur as white as snow, except 
the tip of his tail, which is just as black as jet. We 
notice that the mice (deer mice) which have been 
so plentiful since we came here are keeping hid 
or else the weasel has caught some of them. The 
first night or two Cell complained that they awoke 
him during the night by getting into his hair, as 
we lay with our heads towards the log wall. Since 
then we have changed front, and lay with our 
heads the other way, and Cell has not complained. 
We have seen a dozen of these tiny little creatures 
running along the logs or scampering over the 
floor all at the same time. At first they were in- 
clined to cut our clothing and chew holes in our 
gun cases, but we commenced to feed them by 
placing a basin on the floor, and adding all scraps 
of bacon, crumbs, bones, etc., left from our meals 
each day, and now we get along very nicely to- 
gether. These deer mice are larger than the 
domestic mice you know at home. They also are 
more pretty, having a little strip of fawn-colored 
skin from the throat down, extending to the tips 
of the hind feet. Their ears are very long, and 
when they run, they exhibit the characteristics 
of the deer family by always going with their 



50 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

tails up in the air, which makes us all laugh every 
time we see one darting along. Well, the day is 
done. I shot two nice big grouse, George shot 
a nice buck, Cell got nothing. 

Thursday, Nov. 9. — Another day gone, and 
again we are smoking around the evening camp 
fire. We all started out early this morning, each 
one going in a different direction. George went 
south, Cell went up the north road, and I went 
northwest, into the big elbow. In attempting 
to cross over from one road to the other, I made 
an error and went north instead of going south 
and was lost for three hours, in the big elbow 
which is formed by the river and swamp. This 
elbow is about nine miles long and six or seven 
miles wide, and after crossing a road which runs 
east and west, it is an unbroken forest, with not 
a road or path except the deer trails in it. 

George killed another deer today, a big doe, 
and saw several more. Cell did not see any. 

Friday, November 10. — The fire is crackling in 
the camp stove tonight while sitting around its 
glowing sides are the three hunters, all tired and 
hungry as wolves. Cell came in early this after- 
noon and has been cooking a big basin of beans, 
these are about done, and George is stirring up 
the batter for his famous, or as Cell sometimes 
calls them infamous, flapjacks. But Cell has 
not yet been in camp long enough to feel the keen 
edge of an appetite which would turn a grindstone 
or make mince meat out of a pine log, so we sort 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 51 

of pity him and smile softly as he occasionally 
makes some remark about certain alleged indi- 
gestible dishes. I have set the coffee pot on the 
stove, and already its savory and pungent odor, 
as the little bubbles of steam escapes from the 
lid, fills the cabin. 

Suddenly George says: "Al, take your knife 
and cut some steak. " This reminds me that we 
are to have our first venison steak for supper. 
George had killed a small buck today, which really 
was only a fawn, and we decided to eat him and 
not try to ship him out, so Cell and George carried 
him up from the woods about a mile distant, 
swung on a spring pole, and now have him skinned 
and nicely dressed, quartered and hung up on the 
outside of the cabin. My hunting knife is soon 
snatched from its sheath in my belt and placing 
a quarter of the deer on a box, which I use for a 
meat block, I proceed to cut off slice after sHce 
of the dark red and flavory venison, which is soon 
transferred to the hot frying pan, where it is done 
to a turn with butter and plenty of salt and pepper 
to season. 

The supper that we enjoyed that night was the 
counterpart of many another one in the happy 
days which followed. 

Saturday, Nov. 11. — It has been a most beauti- 
ful day here today, and we all have had quite a 
day of sport. This morning George went one way 
and Cell and 1 started out for a short walk down 
an old logging road, which was cut in here last 



52 Hunting m the Land of Hiawatha; 

winter and runs west and north from the other 
side of the lake. We did not expect to see much, 
as we only intended to go a short distance along 
the road, mostly looking for grouse and signs of 
deer. Cell carried his hammerless shot gun and 
I had my 30-30 rifle. For about a mile or so we 
strolled along, seeing no grouse and occasionally 
the footprint of deer in the soft earth along the 
way. 

In going around a little bend of the road which 
borders a small lake on the left. Cell was a few 
paces ahead of me, when he suddenly dropped 
to the ground on his knees, and raised a iWarning 
hand to me. I thought he had seen a bear 
and began to instantly get ready for business, 
also remembering that my gun was loaded with 
hard or full metal cased bullets, which I had 
expected to use on grouse. A small pine tree 
afforded a perfect screen for Cell, as it lay across 
the road a few paces in front of him, gestulating 
and urging me to come up. I dropped down on 
hands and knees and began crawling towards 
the pine tree, having already caught sight of the 
game — two large deer — a buck and doe, which 
were feeding alongside the road some 25 or 30 
rods distant. After reaching the coveted spot, 
I peered out, but the game had moved towards 
the north side of the road, and I could not see 
plainly where to shoot, so I whispered to Cell 
and handed him my rifle as he was in a position 
where he could see the game and had watched all 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 53 

their movements, and had already laid down his 
shot gun. 

He drew the rifle towards him, and leveled it 
at the buck and fired. At the crack of the gun 
we both partially rose to our feet just in time to 
see the buck give two or three jumps and stop 
along side of the road. The doe passed out of 
sight. I knew by the way he jumped that the 
buck was hit, and whispered so to Cell; after stand- 
ing still a minute or two and watching the game, 
with gun ready to fire, we walked towards the 
spot very cautiously. Approaching within about 
15 rods, Cell again raised the rifle and fired. Al- 
most instantly the big antlers swayed and shook 
and the buck fell to the ground. Cell was almost 
wild with joyous excitement, and I sat down on 
a log nearby while he started back to get George 
if he could find him to help hang up the game. 
I sat there in silence perhaps 10 minutes, when 
I saw four deer run up across the hill about 50 
rods west and were out of sight in a twinkling 
almost, so did not try to shoot at them. Cell 
returned in about a half hour, accompanied by 
George, and we soon had the buck hung up. 

This evening George came up and said he had 
shot a doe about 80 rods north of where Cell got 
the buck, so Cell went back with him to help hang 
it up. 

Sunday, Nov. 12. — A very nice day, a little 
cloudy. What little snow there fell on the loth 
and nth has melted. The soil here is a sort of 



54 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

sandy loam, and the earth surface is warm, con- 
sequently the snow melts almost as fast as it falls, 
unless it snows very hard. We had venison steak, 
coffee, flapjacks, fried onions, boiled potatoes, 
honey and other delicacies for dinner. Tidied up 
around the camp and Cell and I wrote letters 
home. 

Monday, Nov. 13. — Another warm day, all hunt, 
and Cell had the luck to get another deer today, 
a doe of fair size. He went down the north road 
this morning near the place where we saw the 
buck and doe the other day and just a little further 
north from the place where he got the buck, and 
while standing in the road, a doe walked out of 
the brush on the opposite side of the road about 
four rods away, and he opened up on her with 
his 30-30 Winchester. The first shot sent her 
and three other deer which he had not seen before, 
off through the thick brush like flashes of light, 
their white flags bobbing up in the air as they got 
away from him ; the doe kept going and Cell blazed 
away three times. Then he took the trail, which 
was a very poor one, there being no snow, and 
by following the small clots of blood, he, after 
an almost fruitless search, found her lying in a 
runway on the side of a ravine about 40 rods from 
where she was first shot. She was hit by all three 
balls, and is badly shot up, the shots all being body 
and paunch shots. George helped him hang her 
up. George and I saw no deer. 

Tuesday, Nov. 14. — Still another warm day, 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 55 

thermometer hanging on the southwest corner of 
the cabin outside registered about 38 above zero. 
Cell and I went out to the stage road to send to 
Emerson for chewing tobacco for George. A 
damp, foggy day with mist in the air. 

Wednesday, Nov. 15. — Rain today and fog; a 
poor day to hunt, as every branch and twig is 
dripping wet and the great woods were as still as 
death itself. Cut wood for the stove this forenoon 
and stayed in camp the rest of the day. Towards 
evening Cell went up the hill about 25 rods north- 
west of cabin and sat down on a stump to watch 
for deer, with no idea whatever that one would come 
near him, but the unexpected oftentimes happens. 
It did today, and he had been at his post only a 
short time, when just at dusk, he saw a good sized 
doe coming down over the hill from the west, and 
when she had approached within about 12 rods 
of him, he pulled up and fired at her. At the 
crack of the rifle, she jumped, threw up her flag, 
and ran partly around him in a semi-circle. Cell 
came tearing down towards me as I was approach- 
ing from an opposite direction, and told me about 
the shot. I told him I thought he had missed 
her, overshooting the mark in the poor light, as 
it was nearly dark. We looked for signs of a hit, 
but found none, so concluded it was a miss. 

Thursday, Nov. 16.— Up at 5 this morning. 
I went to Brown's lake, and the old camps, a 
distance of about three miles north and west, 
but saw no deer. Again Cell has shown his "tender-. 



56 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

foot " luck by killing a fine buck in the same place 
only a few rods from the camp and where he shot 
at the doe only last night. The buck was coming 
across on the trail from a different direction this 
evening, when Cell was standing by a tree, only 
having been there a few minutes; the buck was 
walking along slowly and did not see him, and 
when the game came out into the path about six 
rods away. Cell fired, the ball hitting the buck 
in the neck, severing the windpipe as completely 
as if it had been cut with a knife. The buck 
made three or four jumps after being hit, and fell 
dead. I helped Cell drag him to camp, each hav- 
ing a grip on his antlers. After supper George 
dressed him, and now he is hanging up near the 
camp. Cell appears to have wonderful luck in 
getting shots and deer, and though rarely ever 
going away from the roads or far from camp, 
he appears to have the deer run right onto him. 

George saw three deer today, but got no shots; 
I did not see any, but a fine marten came within 
ten feet of me, while I was sitting down on a log 
in the woods. I did not shoot him, as I had my 
rifle loaded with soft-nosed bullets and I was 
afraid there would not be anything left of him 
except perhaps the hole, if I hit him, so I did not 
shoot. 

Friday, Nov. 17. — A damp day with mist and 
fog; the thermometer ranges between 38 and 40. 
We are getting anxious about our venison in the 
carcass, as this damp, warm weather is likely to 




ijv .;i;Arriia"L taii-ol .\-.\ii:-xon. 




THE EDITOR AND HIS BIG BUCK OF 1900. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 57 

spoil the meat unless a change in the weather 
comes soon for the better. No deer today, but 
it is my turn to laugh at George now. He came 
in just at dark, panting like a hunted wolf, and 
after a little bantering we were able to gather 
from him his story. He thought he would go 
across from one road to another in the big elbow 
northwest of us where I got mixed up some days 
ago, and, ha! ha! the old buffalo hunter, trapper, 
and man of the woods, actually got lost himself, 
and had a compass, too. He said he walked clear 
round the road that runs north and west from here, 
and when he failed to strike the other road, kept 
going. The sky was dull and leaden, and shadows 
began to creep into the great and silent woods. 
He soon found himself at the edge of the swamp, 
and paused. A long drawn out howl from some 
gaunt and hungry wolf greeted his ear. This was 
too much for him, and he "lit out," he says, and 
somehow or other got home. 

Saturday, Nov. 18. — Rain today, no hunting — 
we all stayed in camp nearly all day. 

Sunday, Nov. 19 — A little rain this morning, 
temperature 40 above. Cell and I went to the 
Tah-qua-me-non river to-day, which is about nine 
miles west of our camp. We started about 8 this 
morning, each carrying his rifle, and our gallon oil 
can, as we were nearly out of kerosene oil and knew 
we could get some at Frank McNearuf's farm on 
the river. We had a good, long walk, and a hard 
one, too, before we arrived at Mr. McNearuf's 



58 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

place, which we reached a Httle before 12 o'clock. 
The road runs straight west, or is supposed to go 
straight, but it is up hill and down dale — through 
the woods all the way, two miles of which is swamp. 
We saw many fresh deer tracks across the road in 
the soft earth, and when we were going through the 
swamp we saw, in the mud in the middle of the road 
the tracks of two big moose. They were going to- 
wards the river, and followed along in the road for 
perhaps half a mile, when they turned oif into the 
swamp. 

Cell and I reported the seeing of the tracks in the 
road at McNearuf's camp, and they told us there 
that the two moose (cow and bull), had been seen 
quite often during the summer and fall near where 
we had seen the tracks. So that settled it in our 
minds as to whether there are moose in Michigan or 
not. McNearuf's is the only farm in this section 
of country, and he is the only settler we know of 
also. His farm embraces about 25 or 30 acres, I 
should think, of cleared land bordering on the 
Tah-qua-me-non river. After our arrival, we met 
several hunters at McNearuf's place, who were 
camped just across the river, and we were invited to 
go across and call on them. We accepted the in- 
vitation and walked from the house to the river 
bank, about 30 rods. Here we found half a dozen 
canoes and several boats, and it was at this time 
that I first caught a good sight of this famous river. 
I simply stood and looked and looked, while Cell, 
in ecstaciesof delight, jumped into an Indian canoe, 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 59 

in company with one of the hunters just mentioned, 
and their neat craft soon was gUdingUke a thing of 
life, silently but swiftly across the dark, smooth, 
glassy-Hke surface of the river. The river at this 
point was about 25 or 30 rods wide, and the current 
strong; the average depth being about 30 feet in 
mid stream. The banks are gently sloping, with a 
nice green sward on the cleared side and sandy 

shore. 

On the opposite shore, there is a dark fringe of 
trees, mostly cedar, which stand very close to the 
water's edge, and the air was so still, the surface so 
smooth, that it was almost Hke gazing into a mirror 
to look upon the placid stream before me. On and 
on rushed the silent but fast flowing current, and 
over all hung that mysterious silence known 
only to a spot Hke unto this. I thought of the days 
gone by— of the startling scenes which must have 
taken place on the bosom of this river and along its 
banks. Many and many an Indian birch bark 
canoe and pirogue had glided over its surface; some 
in peace or in the pursuit of game and some in the 
terrible strife and warfare known only to the wily 
savage of the wilderness. How the night fires must 
have Hghted up the surrounding inky darkness, for 
I firmly beUeve that in these great forests it is, on a 
dark night, the darkest place on earth, at least it is 
to my knowledge and experience. 

I soon found myself on the opposite shore also, 
and then we were'invited into the hunters' camp, 
a log house about 14x20, constructed of cedar poles ; 



6o Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha, 

there was one window and one door, no floor but 
mother earth. They had two or three bunks fixed 
up and a table and an old cast iron stove, and taken 
all together it was a very fair camp. We found 
that there were six hunters and they had killed 
eight or nine deer and shipped all home on account 
of the warm weather. 

In a small enclosure along the river bank, made 
of boards, they showed us a large number of good 
big fish, black suckers, pickerel and muskalonge, 
and told us to take out all we wanted. So we ac- 
cepted three fish, a pickerel nearly three feet long 
and two smaller fish, and soon took our departure 
for the other shore. 

Having finished our business. Cell and I gathered 
up our loads — he having four loaves of bread tied 
up in a bundle and strung on his back, while I car- 
ried about 12 pounds of fish over my shoulder, be- 
sides our rifles, and started for our camp, where we 
arrived about four in the afternoon, tired but feel- 
ing well repaid for our long walk. 

Monday, Nov. 20 — Up at 5 this morning. I 
started to go west, but found where two bucks had 
fought a terrific battle last night or early in the 
morning hours, only about 80 rods from our camp, 
and in and along both sides of the east and west 
road. The earth was plowed and cut up where 
the two contestants plunged their sharp hoofs into 
the ground ; the brush was trampled and torn down 
and leaves scattered about over half an acre. I 
found one spot on a small knoll, where one of the 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 6i 

bucks had been thrown to the ground by his rival, 
and probably somewhat injured by the sharp ant- 
lers of the other, as there were bunches of loose hair 
scattered all around, an imprint of his body as he 
lay on the ground could easily be seen. I tracked 
the fighters quite a distance, until the trail grew 
fainter and soon found where they had separated, 
a buck and doe going south and the other buck 
turning northeast. 

The footprints of the doe, as she stood in the mid- 
dle of the road and calmly watched the fight of the 
rivals for her favored presence, I could see plainly. 
At this season of the year, the bucks are courting 
the favor of the does or mating, and when two bucks 
meet, one of which may be accompanied by a doe, 
there is an instant challenge to combat, and the 
fight opens in earnest. The doe stands near by 
and watches the battle, which sometimes ends in 
the mortal wounding of one or both of the fighters ; 
or they may get their horns interlocked together in 
such a manner as to never be able to separate, and 
then both starve to death. Such instances are re- 
corded. In the event of a victory, the gallant hero 
who wins the fight, is always accompanied by the 
doe who stood near and for whom he fought, and 
the two go off together while the vanquished fellow 
sneaks away into the depths of the forest to nurse 
his bruises and console himself as best he can until 
he shall have better luck himself. 

Tuesday, Nov. 21 — Rain today and fog; stayed 
in camp this morning. In the afternoon George 



62 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

and I went out a little while. George shot at a big 
buck this afternoon west of camp, but did not get 
him. Don't know whether he was hit or not. 

Wednesday, Nov. 22 — Cell went home today. 
He took his departure while George and I were 
north and west of camp, and we did not know he 
had gone until our return this afternoon. He left 
a note for us, saying he got a chance to go out, and 
as he had been looking for some one to take himself 
and game out for a few days past, it did not sur- 
prise us. He took only one deer and saddles of an- 
other, both bucks, while his third one, a doe, he had 
to abandon in the woods, as the venison had spoiled. 
This weather is too warm, 37 today and soft and 
rainy. The wolves howling near camp awoke 
George about 5 this morning. On examining the 
ground, we found where a big wolf had come within 
three rods of the camp, and left his big round foot- 
print, as large as George's fist, in the soft earth in 
the middle of the road. 

Thursday, Nov. 23 — Temperature 31 this morn- 
ing. A little snow is falling, but melts as fast as it 
comes down. George and I went out and salted 
our venison, hoping this will help some in keeping 
it. The weather is so warm and soft, we fear the 
meat may not keep. I found a flower in bloom 
yesterday in the road. 

Friday, Nov. 24. — Still a little snow falling by 
spells. Temperature, ^S above. George and I 
brought in three deer today from the woods and 
hung them up on a big pole at the camp. One 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 63 

of the bucks we brought in was George's biggest 
one and must weigh over 200 pounds. 

This afternoon I went over south, and seeing a 
sHght movement through the thick brush about 
18 rods away, watched it until I made out the 
form of a deer. The brush was very thick, but I 
knew it was a deer, as I could make out the neck 
and fore legs. I had been sitting on an old tree 
top, when the deer first came into sight. The deer 
was standing still, and so dark was the day that 
I could scarcely get a bead on the game, but took 
a careful aim and fired. At the crack of the rifle, 
I saw a deer jump and make several lunges away 
from the spot where I had fired. With a new shell 
in the barrel and gun ready to fire, I made my 
way slowly towards the spot; on looking around 
after reaching it, found a few drops of blood; this 
I followed up, it forming an indistinct trail over 
the leaves for 8 or 10 rods, when I found large 
pools of blood, and knew the game was mortally 
wounded. A few rods farther along, I found the 
deer, a large doe, lying on the leaves, quite dead. 
George and I went down to the place towards 
evening and hung her up. 

Saturday, Nov. 25. — I went to the postoffice 
today and sent by stage driver to Emerson for 
tobacco and sugar, two of the luxuries of camp 
life. George was out of chewing tobacco, and 
could not hunt, he said, without it. Temperature 
38 today, sky cloudy. The wolves howled again 
last night near the camp. 



64 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

Sunday, Nov. 26. — We went to White Fish Bay 
today. It is about six or seven miles east of our 
camp. The scene on the bay is beautiful, indeed. 
The white sandy shore, with its fringe of forest 
paralleling it for miles, and the broad expanse of 
water extending into space until sky and water 
seem to meet in one grand sweep of vision, is a 
novel and beautiful sight for one to behold who has 
been for weeks confined in the heart of the great 
woods. This is the first daylight, it seems to me, 
I have seen since I came into these woods. 

Following along the sandy shore, we soon came 
in sight of a camp — a lumber camp. I had my 
kodak and took several pictures of the bay and 
shore, and when I turned it on the camp, and told 
a man I was going to take a picture of the camp, 
he jumped around like a boy, and cried to me to 
hold on until he got all the boys to stand on the 
outside. So I waited and in a few moments the 
men came pouring out, like bees from a hive, and 
I lined them all up on the outside of the camp. 
Then I took several pictures of the crowd. They 
came up then and begged me to send them some 
pictures, asking my price for same, and saying 
that they seldom or ever have a chance to get a 
picture taken in the woods. Their earnestness and 
good natures made me smile, and I told them I was 
not taking the pictures for money, but to secure 
a private collection, but would send them some 
if I could, and providing the pictures were good. 
See illustrations — Cedar Camp. 




STATION AGENT BUSSETTE, DAUGHTER AND FAITHFUL WATCH DOG 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 65 

Monday, Nov. 27 — My luck again today, and I 
have another nice doe. I started southwest this 
morning, and saw a number of good fresh signs of 
game. About 10 this forenoon I crossed the old 
southwest road and started to go west, but stopped 
a few minutes by a large hemlock tree to watch a 
runway. I had not been there long before Hooked 
south down the road and saw a deer walking across 
the road, headed west. Quick as a flash I drew up 
the 30-30 and getting a line on the fore shoulder, 
fired. There was a streak of grayish brown west 
into the woods, and all was still. I did not know 
what to think. The distance was, perhaps, 20 rods, 
and the light rather poor, but had I missed a deer 
standing broadside towards me and walking across 
the road, at even that distance? The thought was 
enough to make a fellow feel chagrined, indeed. But 
I started for the place and soon discovered the trail 
across the road; saw where the deer was when I 
shot, as I found a few loose hairs on the opposite 
side of the deer's tracks, and knew then the 
ball hit her somewhere. Thus encouraged, I took 
the faint trail, following it on the leaves under the 
low branches of small pines and hemlocks, over old 
dead tree tops and logs, for a quarter of a mile, 
when I found some blood, and a few rods beyond 
there lay the deer, not yet dead, but kicking a 
little. 

A shot in the head put her out of her misery, and 
I hurried back to camp to get George to help me 
hang her up. About noon he came in, and we went 



66 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

down and cleaned her out and hung her up. The 
wolves had an awful powwow last night, and kept 
George awake until nearly 1 2 o'clock with their aw- 
ful noise. There must have been a dozen of them, 
and they were howling in four different directions 
perhaps a mile or less from camp. George says he 
can hear a wolf howl from two to four miles on a 
still night. We expect they found the carcass of 
Cell's deer and other parts of game which we had 
left in the woods, and were howling to let all the 
other wolves know of their good luck. George saw 
two deer today, but got nothing. 

Tuesday, Nov. 28 — I went up the north road to- 
day to see if the wolves had touched the carcass of 
the deer Cell left lying in the woods, and also the 
other parts of venison scattered around, but the sly 
fellows, though they howled enough to scare all the 
live deer in the woods out of their usual haunts, 
have not yet touched the meat thrown around. 
After we are gone they will get together a good- 
sized pack and devour everything in sight, but as 
long as the hunters are in their vicinity they will not 
touch meat or dead carcasses, as they prefer live 
meat, pulling down wounded and small deer every 
night. We have seen their tracks on runways 
where they were chasing small deer a number of 
times. A little rain today; temperature 29 above. 
George shot at and hit a big buck, but as it was 
nearly dark, he had to give up the trail and come 
home. 

Wednesday, Nov. 29 — I went out to postoffice 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 67 

this morning. Still raining, and everything drip- 
ping wet. Tonight it looks hke snow, but as we 
expect to start for home tomorrow, we don't care 
a fig whether it snows now this season or not. Such 
a warm season and no snow we never experienced 
before. George came in this evening and reported 
seeing five deer today over in the southwest corner, 
and shot at one, but thinks he missed. This is the 
last night in the Journal camp of 1899, and we made 
merry. Cooked all the choice things we could find, 
cleaned up the onions, honey and other dainties. 
Now you will smile, of course; onions, as dainties, 
eh ! Well, you would think so, too, if you Hved the 
Ufe of a hunter in these woods for a period of three 
or four weeks, as we have. 

Thursday, Nov. 30— George is fretting because 
he thinks I have made a mistake in the day and 
date as to when the teamster was coming after us, 
but I tell him I am certain this is the day and the 
right date. The fact is it is easy to lose track of 
the date and day in the woods where no calendar is 
at hand and every day is almost the counterpart of 
every other day, as each comes and goes. How- 
ever, here comes George, a smile on his face, that 
means the teamster is coming, as he has been out 
to the road to look and listen for him. Adieu, 
grand old forest, until another year. 



FOURTH ANNUAL HUNT. 
Chapter IV. 

To A Waterfowl. 

Whither, midst falling dew. 

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way? i 

All day thy wings have fanned, 

At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 

Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land 
Though the dark night is near. 

— Bryant. 

ECKERMAN, Oct. 30, 19OO. 

Arrived today at 1 1 a. m. Found our cook stove 
and groceries here in good condition. Stopped at 
the hotel over night. Weather warm, and a little 
rain. 

Oct. 31. — Started this morning for camp, at 
8 a. m. Loaded goods on wagon, and had a big 
load; all walked into camp. I was first one in. 
Found everything looking natural. Load arrived 
at 12 noon. Went to work and fixed up the roof 
where it needed it, by laying on tar paper. Set 
up our stove and made a table to eat off. Prepared 
and ate dinner, consisting of half a dozen grouse 
fried in butter, and were excellent. The boys were 
hungry after their long tramp and did ample justice 
to the meal. After dinner, cut some wood, and 
made beds of freshly cut hemlock and spruce 
boughs. The weather is warm, temperature 58 
above and some mist in the air. 



70 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

Thursday, Nov. i. — Up at 6:15 this morning. 
Found it rainy, with fresh northwesterly winds, 
breakfasted and then washed up the dishes. About 
10 a. m. I went west down the log road half a mile 
but it began to rain, and I came back. Buck 
and Bennett also went out a little while, but 
came in on account of the rain. About i p. m. 
Buck and Bennett took the mail box out to stage 
road and nailed it up on a tree. The box is a 
regular U. S. iron box, with our names painted 
on it as follows: 

C. C. Bennett, 

P. A. Buck, 

M. M. Clark, 

A. D. Shaffmaster. 
It continued to rain by spells all day, and was 
so wet and nasty we could not go out to look 
around, so hung around the camp. Tonight at 
7 130 it was a little cooler, the temperature being 
42 above, a fall of 16 degrees in about 24 hours. 
Flies and bugs are still in evidence here, and the 
grass and wild clover is as fresh and green as it is 
during June in Southern Michigan. 

Friday, Nov. 2. — Temperature 36 this morning 
when we arose. After a little mist, followed by 
some rain, it cleared up, and the sun shone brightly 
for the first time since we arrived in this county. 
The boys fixed up the bunks today, and Buck 
went out to the postoffice and brought us in sport- 
ing magazines, papers and letters, which we all 
enjoyed reading and looking over this evening. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 71 

I took a good tramp southwest, and was out from 
9 to 4:30. Saw a few signs, but the deer seem 
to be very still and are not moving around much 
yet. There is lots of feed for them, as the old log 
roads are well grown up to grass and wild clover and 
there are considerable beech nuts in the woods this 
year. Buck shot a porcupine today, he calls it 
his "mountain lion." The grouse seem to have 
kept in hiding since the rain set in ; I have only 
seen two today, and did not get either of them. 

Saturday, Nov. 3. — Cut some wood this morn- 
ing, and then the boys went into the woods to look 
up runways and deer sign. Temperature this 
morning was 29 deg., the lowest yet, and there 
was a good frost last night. Buck went out to the 
postoffice today and brought back mail. This 
evening, while we were eating supper, we were all 
suddenly startled by the crash of something fall- 
ing on the roof of our camp. On stepping out 
doors we found that a small hemlock tree about 
six inches through had fallen across the north end 
of our roof , knocking over our stove pipe, and break- 
ing one or two roof boards. There was a high wind 
prevailing at the time, and fearing other trees near 
by might topple over on us in the night the boys 
took the axe and cut two that looked a little sus- 
picious. Our big bed, which is built Indian fash- 
ion, clear across one end of the camp, is all right, 
and we all sleep in it with plenty of room and com- 
fort indeed, and though every space is occupied, 
we do not feel crowded. Our cabin now presents 



72 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

a genuine sporting appearance, with rifles, axes 
and belts and hunting clothing hung up in all man- 
ner of places. 

We have everything as snug and comfortable as 
anyone could wish for. Our new cook stove is all 
right, and we can cook or bake anything we wish, 
and have hot water in the reservoir, too. These 
things are luxuries in these woods, I can say from 
past experience. 

Sunday, Nov. 4. — A nice clear morning this was, 
with a slight frost last night. Temperature this 
morning was 31. I spent the day in writing letters 
and going out to postoffice, also visited the Mance- 
lona hunters' camp, four miles southeast. This 
camp was built and is occupied by J. N. McCall, 
and the Chapman brothers, all well-known sports- 
men of Mancelona, Mich. 

Monday, Nov. 5 — A hard frost last night, and 
temperature 29 this morning at 7:30. About 9 a. 
m. it began to snow, and kept snowing by spells un- 
til noon, when it began to rain and snow alternately 
the rest of the day. I went out this morning south- 
east to look up runways, and got pretty wet; re- 
turned at noon and changed my wet garments for 
dry ones. I saw two grouse, and got one with my 
rifle. Buck was out and returned at noon, and said 
he saw a deer. In the afternoon Bennett was out 
and saw two flags. 

Tuesday, Nov. 6. — The ground was almost white 
with snow this morning when we arose, and it 




OUR U. S. MAIL r,OX ON T 




THE J)RS. UL'iWAiKRS CA.NiP. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 73 

looked as though we would have some tracking 
snow, but the temperature began to rise in the mid- 
dle of the forenoon, and the snow soon melted. 
In the early morning I saw the tracks of two big 
wolves southwest toward the swamp. The wolves 
are just beginning to run, I think, and will soon be- 
gin to howl in the night. 

This day was one of great interest and excite- 
ment to the outside world, on account of the gen- 
eral election, but to us here, it was the same as any 
other day. We expect to hear the results of the 
election in a few days. 

Wednesday, Nov. 7. — Temperature 30 this morn- 
ing. It snowed a little today, but melted as fast 
as it fell, and made everything nasty and too wet 
to hunt. 

Thursday, Nov. 8. — Buck went to postoffice to- 
day and brought all of us letters and several daily 
papers, which we enjoyed reading around the table 
tonight. This afternoon we cut some wood, and I 
carried it all into camp, so tonight we have a good 
supply on hand. At 8 p. m. it is snowing hard, 
about 2 inches already having fallen. Buck ap- 
pears to be the lucky hunter, as he saw the first 
deer tonight just at dusk. He had been out on an 
old road southwest of camp watching for deer, and 
was coming in. When about 30 rods from camp, 
he saw a deer standing on the side of the old log 
road which branches off and runs to the little lake. 
It was getting dusk, but light enough to shoot. 
He fired, the deer jumped to the other side of the 



74 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

road, and stopped and looked at him. In his ex- 
excitement he stood there and pumped out two 
or three cartridges on the ground, supposing he 
was shooting at the game, in his absent-minded- 
ness, I suppose. After a few such exciting mo- 
ments, he got aroused and fired at the deer, but she 
stuck her flag up and ran like the wind. 

Friday, Nov. 9. — Up this morning at 5 130, and as 

I peeked out of the window a white vista of fleecy 
snow met my gaze; I went out doors and meas- 
ured the snow, which was at 6 a. m. 15 inches deep. 
It continued to snow all the morning, and at 

I I o'clock the beautiful covered the earth to a depth 
of exactly 20 inches. After breakfast I went to 
the lake for water ploughing my way through snow 
above my knees. The scene around after the great 
storm was beautiful — like a fairyland — the land of 
snow. The trees were laden with it, and presented 
a grand spectacle. I went out and walked around, 
and took several views of the snowy scene which, 
when developed by the photographer, will help 
our home people to realize what a snowstorm is in 
this region. 

Two or three flocks of wild geese came flying 
over our camp this forenoon, and the boys all 
rushed out with their guns and made things lively 
for a few moments, but never touched a feather 
as we could see. The birds were well up and a 
good ways off, and it was snowing hard at the time, 
so that one was almost blinded by the falling snow 
when looking into the air. The geese were driven by 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 75 

the big storm and no doubt looking for open wa- 
ter. I went out to our mail box today, took me 
two hours and 15 minutes to make the round trip 
of five miles, through snow about two feet deep. It 
was a very hard and disagreeable task, and I was 
not only very tired on my return, but wet through 
with the melting snow and sweat from extra ex- 
ertion. It has stopped snowing, and tonight at 
8 it is freezing. The boys sat around camp most 
of the day, reading daily and weekly papers a 
week old, and magazines. It has been a long day 
and pretty tedious. 

Saturday, Nov. 10. — This morning dawned cold 
and clear — 24 above at 7 a. m. The boys all start- 
ed out quite early for deer. The walking was very 
tiresome and slow, as the snow was above our knees 
in most places. Buck went north and Clark and 
Bennett south, and I went southwest. I saw three 
deer and killed two bucks, one a spike-hom and one 
a three-prong. I hung up the spike-horn buck 
alone, and finding I was pretty tired, went towards 
camp, met Bennett, who returned with me and 
helped me hang up the three-prong. They were 
both killed about 15 minutes apart, and both were 
shot through the neck. Both fell at the crack of 
my 30-30, and never got up after they went down. 
It is my best score in one day so far in deer hunting, 
and consequently I feel pretty well satisfied with 
my day's work. Distance of shooting 60 and 80 
yards. I saw a number of fresh tracks and a big 
doe coming home tonight, but did not shoot at her 



76 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

as I wanted a big buck. I could have killed the doe 
easily. We are all tired tonight, and will retire 
early to get a good start tomorrow morning. Clark 
did not see any deer today, but Bennett got a shot 
at a spike-horn buck in the thick brush this after- 
noon, but scored a miss. He also saw two other 
flags, but could not get a shot at the game. 

Sunday, Nov. 11. — The weather remains about 
normal — cloudy all the time, and temperature 
from 24 to 34. Hung around camp today and 
cleaned our guns. This evening we had oyster 
stew and baked beans, with hot biscuits and honey. 
Tomorrow the boys all expect to be out early mak- 
ing the most of the tracking snow, which is about 
right; it has packed down and thawed enough so 
that one can walk about fairly well, yet is deep 
enough in some places to make it hard traveling. 
Looks like snow tonight. 

Monday, Nov. 12. — All out this morning early. 
I went to the southwest, took a look at my two 
bucks and found them hanging all right and keep- 
ing nice as the weather is cool enough and it freezes 
every night. After looking at the bucks I took 
a big detour farther south and west a long distance 
from camp. Coming back through the big woods, 
I saw what I made out to be a deer in the thick 
brush. Taking careful aim at a spot just back 
of the left fore leg, I pulled the trigger. At the 
crack of the 30-30, down went the deer. Walking 
carefully up to my game, I discovered to my de- 
Hght it was a fine large ten-point buck with beau- 



or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 77 

tiful spreading antlers, and a bold handsome face 
and full, rounded neck. He was, indeed, a grand 
prize, and I could not help feehng a thrill of satis- 
fied pride in realizing that I had killed the largest 
and noblest game in this country and in a place far 
remote from even a log road or hunters' trail. Not 
knowing where I was at the time, I drew forth my 
compass and took a direction which I knew would 
take me out to an old log road which I came down 
on in the morning. Walking for 40 minutes, I 
reached the road and then was about 2% miles 
from camp. Tonight the boys all came in and 
reported not kilHng a deer today, but saw some 
and lots of tracks. 

Buck shot two more porcupines today, getting 
them out of a big hemlock, and says they looked 
so large up there he did not know but what they 
tnight be bears until one struck the ground, after 
putting a ball through it. At noon Buck announc- 
ed to the boys in camp, he had seen two deer, shot 
twice at them, but missed. After lunch, they all 
started again, and tonight we find Buck had seen 
four deer today, but did not get any of them. 

Buck had an adventure today. He went north 
near Clark's lake, and saw a deer, fired at it and 
wounded it; the deer ran, though, and he tracked 
it by the blood. He traveled around and around, 
and got across the East and West road, and picked 
himself up over south on the angling road. He 
did not know where he was, and got pretty scared. 
Taking his compass in his hand, he walked until 



78 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

he came to another log road, and in it he saw a 
large black stump which he recognized as having 
seen several days before, and then he knew where 
he was, and easily reached camp. He says the 
little compass saved him. 

Tuesday, Nov. 13. — Buck and Bennett accom 
panied me to where I killed the big buck yesterday 
and helped me to drag him out to the log road. It 
was a job which we found was good exercise. Buck 
and myself each grasped an antler and started. 
The snow was 12 to 14 inches deep, and we slid 
him along over brush, old tree tops, logs and through 
holes where we sunk waist deep in the snow. We 
found our wind sadly broken and had to 
stop to rest and breathe often. After going 
quite a distance. Buck discovered that he had lost 
his hunting knife which had slipped out of its 
sheath in his belt and had fallen somewhere in the 
snow. We went back and looked for it, but did not 
find it, so I promised him a new one in its stead 
when we reached home. The last half mile Ben- 
nett, who had gone out ahead of us with the guns, 
came back and assisted us. I hitched a small 
rope I carried in my pocket around the buck '6 
horns and placing the rope over my shoulder, went 
ahead, holding up the animal's head and pulling 
at the same time, while my two companions, 
on each side, dragged away with the antlers. After 
over two hours' very hard work we had him out 
to the log road and hung up. Then all went hunt- 
ing. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 79 

Clark reports tonight that he got a shot at a nice 
big doe running today, but missed her. He is 
beginning to feel encouraged, as he thinks his old 
good luck must be returning. The wolves, seem 
to keep away, and I have seen but two tracks this 
fall where there were dozens last year. I am told 
by Sam McMullen, the mail route owner, who 
travels the roads through these woods every day, 
that the wolves are over on the other side of the 
Tah-qua-me-non river, in the big swamp and will 
not get over on this side until the river freezes 
over, as they will not swim a big stream like the 
Tah-qua-me-non. 

Wednesday, Nov. 14. — All got an early start this 
morning. I was the first one out, and struck a 
fresh track a little distance from the camp and 
followed it nearly five hours, but did not get sight 
of the game. Buck did not see anything today 
nor Clark. Bennett saw two deer this forenoon, 
but only got a glimpse of them and did not shoot ; 
this afternoon he went out to the mail box and on 
the way saw a fine young buck about 20 rods away 
standing in the road. He fired at him, but missed, 
and away bounded the buck, flag up and heels 
cutting the air. After Bennett returned from the 
mail box he targeted his rifle and found it shot 
too low, and that, he says, accounts for two misses 
he has made. He now has the sights arranged so he 
thinks he can stop the next one that he sees. Today 
we received papers from home giving us the first di- 
rect information of the result of the recent general 



8o Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

election. Buck, after trying to hit deer with sights 
set on regular notch, and fired several times, has 
elevated the rear sight to second notch and says he 
has been shooting too low, as in targeting his gun 
the other day he found the ball fell several inches 
on a distance of lo rods. I told him he was more 
likely to overshoot than undershoot when firing 
at deer in the woods where the light is most always 
poor, and the aim must be taken very quickly. 

Thursday, Nov. 15. — Having sent word to the 
teamster, he came today and we went down the 
old log road, cut out the fallen trees and got my 
deer. Before he came, however, I went down and 
cut off the saddles of the spike buck and carried 
the venison nearly to camp, when I met the team- 
ster and Bennett. So the boys are well supplied 
with nice, tender venison steak, and shouldn't go 
hungry. I took some kodak pictures, packed up 
my things, and after a hurried meal, we started for 
the railroad station. Buck also made up his mind 
to go out. It began to snow soon after we started, 
and snowed very hard all the time we were on the 
way out. 

We reached the hotel at the station at 7 in the 
evening, having driven about 14 miles since 3:30. 
We were a little damp and cold from the storm and 
long ride, but a good warm supper and a pipe around 
the big stove in the hotel soon put us in a happy 
frame of mind. Clark and Bennett expected to 
stay about a week yet in the camp. 

Sam McMullen, the teamster, and who also drives 




AL AND HIS BIG BUCK OF 1901. 




OUR CAMP Ai SILVER CREEK. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 8i 

the stage from Eckerman to White Fish Point, and 
has probably hauled out more deer carcasses than 
any other man in the country, estimates my big 
buck will weigh, dressed, 200 pounds. He also says 
it is one of the largest and handsomest looking 
bucks he has ever hauled to the station. 

After arriving home, this buck was dressed and 
weighed, and tipped the scales at 206 pounds. I 
have the head finely mounted, together with the 
other two bucks I shot this fall, and they form a 
part of my collection. 

Clark and Bennett arrived home at Bronson a 
week later, having secured one nice four-point buck. 
They reported the snow two feet on the level, and 
consequently hunting was practically impossible. 
Thus ended our Fourth Annual Hunt. 



FIFTH ANNUAL HUNT. 
Chapter V. 

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and hemlocks, 
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight 

Stand like druids of eld 

— Longfellow in Evangeline. 

"Hello, Sam." 

"Hello, Al, how are you sir?" 

The following conversation took place on the 
platform of the little station at Eckerman on the 
28th day of October, 1901, as two men garbed as 
hunters and carrying two guns each and other para- 
phernalia of the woods, stepped from the Duluth, 
South Shore & Atlantic train, which stood puffing 
and panting on the rails, while a number of strag- 
gling passengers boarded it for its destination east. 

After releasing his hold on my right hand, which 
had been as a grip of iron, big, bronzed and smiling 
Sam McMullen, my old reUable teamster, turned 
with an half inquiring glance towards my compan- 
ion. When divining his thoughts I said: "Mr. 
McMullen, this is Mr. Clark Green, a prosperous 
farmer-sportsman of my own county, who has 
come north to get a little taste of real sport." As 
the hands of the two men met and exchanged 
grips, I could see that each was mutually pleased, 
and a new name had been added to Sam's long list 
of visiting sportsmen. After arranging the de- 
tails of our trip into the woods with our teamster, I 



84 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha: 

secured a pencil sketch of the location of the camp 
of Dr. J. E. Cutwater, a resident of my own town, 
who was camped six miles south. The following 
day we paid a visit to Dr. Cutwater's camp, find- 
ing it very easily through Mr. McMullen's direction 
and the Doctor's marks or blazes on the trees. The 
Doctor's camp was located about two miles from 
Hulbert lake, sometimes called "The Glimmer^ 
glass," on account of the extraordinary transpar- 
ency and tranquillity of its surface, and about two 
miles from "Deerfoot Lodge," owned by the Hon. 
Chase S. Csborn, and Judge Joseph H. Steere, of 
Sault Ste. Marie, Mich., and Mr. Roys J. Cram, of 
Detroit, Mich. The camp was admirably located 
in a little opening on a gentle rise of ground, yet 
sufficiently screened by nearby towering pines and 
hemlocks, to give it an aspect of sylvan seclusion 
and the charm of forest solitude . 

As we approach with the silent tread of the In- 
dian, we note the presence of a woman and little 
girl on the outside of the tent. So occupied are 
they with their duties they do not see or hear us until 
we stand before them only a few feet away, with 
extended friendly hand and a pleasurable smile on 
our faces. Hastily looking up from her task of 
preparing dinner Mrs. Cutwater recognizes us, 
and gives us a very warm handshake and a most 
hearty welcome. We were soon comfortably 
seated on a bench (not upholstered) on the outside 
of the tent, and exchanging views and comments 
about home, friends and camp. 



or 



The Hunting Trips of an Editor 85 



Emma, the daughter, looks rosy and healthy, 
and brings us a good, nice, cool drink of water. Mr. 
Shedd, grandpa, is there, and just as natural as 
though he was in his own door yard in Bronson. 
I note that the camp site is a good one in a clear 
spot, free from faUing trees and high enough for a 
dry camp floor. The tent is large and well banked 
up with split slabs backed with rich soil, thus mak- 
ing the tent air-tight and warm, and snug for cold 
weather. 

Mrs. Cutwater soon had a crackling fire in the 
camp stove, and the delicious, savory smell of 
roasting partridge fills the soft air, and we are in- 
vited to sit up and have some dinner. Well, we 
could not refuse that, and such a dinner as it was. 
Roast grouse with rich dressing and nice bread and 
butter, coffee and milk, and everything to delight 
the heart of the hunter and appease his hunger, 
which in these parts is always with us. 

Before the dinner was finished the doctor him- 
self put in his appearance with his old, reUable 
45-90 rifle on his shoulder, his long visored cap, 
felt footwear on his feet, and lugging a bunch of 
steel traps which he had gone out to bring in. 

This was the last we saw of the Cutwater party 
until we all had returned home after the fall's hunt. 
The Doctor killed three fine deer and his wife, 
Dr. Eva J. Cutwater, succeeded in killing her first 
deer, a nice big buck, besides helping to kill her full 
share of some 70 grouse and other small game. 
They report a splendid time during their ten weeks 



86 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

in camp, and are planning another hunt for next 
season in The North Country. The Cutwaters 
have camped and hunted in Arkansas, Indiana, 
and Michigan, and are both enthusiasts for camp 
life, and are their own taxidermists, having at 
their home a large collection of fine mounted 
specimens which they have secured and mounted 
while on their different trips. 

Oct. 31. — Loaded up our outfit and started for 
our camping grounds this morning about 7 o'clock. 
The place Mr. McMuUen had picked out for us is 
thirteen miles north on Silver Creek, therefore our 
camp will be known as Silver Creek Camp. 

Clark shot a grouse on the road coming in this 
morning, and another in the brush tops of some 
fallen birch trees near our tent this afternoon. 

We get our water supply from Silver Creek, a 
beautiful but small, clear stream flowing over a pure, 
white bed of sand, which trickles and murmurs 
day and night, winter and summer, and is only 
about forty feet back from our tent. It is the finest 
and purest water I ever enjoyed in camp in Michi- 
gan, and only equalled by the ice cold streams from 
which I have drank in the Rocky Mountains. It 
seems as though I am always thirsty here, and drink 
and drink of this aqua pura from Nature's spring 
far back in the hills. It makes one's teeth chatter 
to drink it, even on a warm day, and is so clear and 
sweet it seems like nectar. Along the banks of the 
stream overhanging each tiny brink are green ferns 
and velvety moss of emerald hue, and the aromatic 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 87 

spruce and hemlock branches nod above its laugh- 
ing waters and add their fragrance to the distilled 
liquid of Nature's fountain. 

Silver Creek Camp, Nov. i. — Well this has been a 
busy day for us both. We worked around camp 
and made many improvements. Clark went out 
this morning and cut a small wagon load of fresh 
spruce and hemlock boughs which I made up into a 
bed, then we laid on the heavy canvass to keep the 
dampness away, and followed this with three or 
four heavy quilts and warm woolen blankets, then 
placed our pillows and our bed was complete, as 
soft and rich a resting place as any one could desire. 

Nov. 3. — Went to the home of Mr. Weaver 
today, three-quarters of a mile north, and he show- 
ed us the way up to the old beaver dam at the head 
of the creek. On the way to the dam Mr. Weaver's 
dogs (he has three) scared up a small deer in the 
swamps, and also a grouse which Clark finally 
brought down with his shot gun out of a tree where 
the bird almost escaped our vision. 

Arriving at the beaver dam I secured some 
kodak pictures of the dam which is some ten rods 
wide and four feet high. I also took views of the 
beaver houses and the pond. We saw a maple 
tree about twelve inches through, which had been 
cut down and fallen into the pond by the beavers. 
Clark and I both brought away relics of the place 
in shape of sticks which had been cut off by the 
beavers, the marks of the animals' teeth being 
plainly seen on the hard wood grains. 



88 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

Nov. 5. — It began to rain this afternoon, and 
is still raining this evening at 8 o'clock. The 
wind is blowing hard and fast increasing into a 
gale. The old canvas walls and roof of our tent 
heaves with every fresh gust of wind like the 
waves on Lake Superior, it seems to us, and while 
I sit here by the table writing Clark pufEs his pipe 
and solemnly shakes his head, and ominously 
glances upward toward the apex of the tent as 
though he fain would gaze through the dark and 
hazy covering above him and pierce the inky 
gloom of the sky around, for there is terror in that 
mournful howl of the sweeping gale, with its rush 
of pelting rain drops as they beat upon the canvas 
roof. There are trees standing near our tent, 
in fact all around us, and we hear their lofty tops 
swaying and tossing in the air, and the howl of the 
blast through the forest. It is a terrible night, and 
we feel how utterly helpless is man in times of 
nature's wrath, when she tosses her great seas 
into mountains of crest and foam, and the thunder 
of the breakers on the shore makes the earth 
tremble. How frail and small we seem unto 
ourselves, how insecure is life and all living and 
animate things, except in the watchful keeping of 
Him who rules the universe. 

Nov. 6. — The rain storm of last night turned 
into snow toward morning, the gale subsided 
also, and this morning the ground was white 
with snow. We went out and cut down several 




AL HAS A FRESH KILL. 




CLARK GREEN BRINGING IN A DEER. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 89 

suspicious looking trees which stood near and 
leaned towards our tent. 

Nov. 7. — It rained again today and is raining 
tonight. This afternoon I took a stroll west a 
couple of miles and saw two large deer. This 
evening we read the Journal and other newspapers 
from home. Our mail is left by the stage driver 
right at our door almost, as we have put up a 
box on a tree, and arranged with Mr. McMullen, 
carrier of the U. S. mail on the stage road, to 
leave our mail while we are in camp. Tomorrow 
is the first day of the open season for deer hunting, 
and we shall retire early in order to get an early 
start. 

Nov. 8. — We were up and started this morning 
about dayhght. I went southwest and then 
south over a group of irregular shaped hills which 
we call in hunter ' s parlance , ' ' hogsbacks . ' ' These 
hogsbacks, or ridges, form a part of the best 
localities for deer, and wherever there is a hogsback 
there is the never failing draw or deep cut parallel- 
ing the ridge. Over these high ridges and down 
through these deep draws the wild deer love to 
roam. This is their play-ground. Open streams, 
fed by springs far up in the wooded hills, flow in 
winding fashion down through some of the very 
deep draws. Some of these draws are almost as 
dark and deep as a full fledged canyon in the 
mountains, and when the top and sides of the 
hogsback are thickly covered with a heavy growth 
of hemlock, with their dark green and heavy 



go Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

foliage shutting out the Ught and forming deep 
and gloomy looking hollows, with plenty of 
beech, birch and small brush for an ideal close 
cover, you had better go pretty careful, as there 
is almost certain to be deer somewhere in the 
vicinity. 

During the day I have caught sight of four 
deer, all running and all at big distances. I fired 
shots at two of them but could find no evidence of a 
hit, as the game got out of sight so quickly I had 
hardly time to think what had been done before 
they were up and gone. The deer also appear to 
be very wild this opening of the season, and seem 
hard to approach. 

This evening as we were preparing supper and 
the tent glowing with warmth and comfort, we 
exchanged views on the day's hunt. Clark 
reported seeing one deer which was running and 
he got no shot. 

Nov. 9. — Both of us have been out all day, and 
guess we both have had a tramp, at least I know 
that I took the biggest tramp of my life today, 
under the circumstances. This morning I had gone 
about two miles west, intending to strike much 
the same ground as yesterday, as I felt sure 
there were deer in that locality, and if I could 
only manage to get in their locality without the 
game taking alarm, probably could get a telling 
shot. About 10:00 in the forenoon, as I had seen 
no deer yet, and feeling like taking a little explor- 
ing trip, I decided to walk across the strip of 



or. The Hmtting Trips of an Editor 91 

woods I was hunting in to our camp grounds of 
last year on the East and West road. Now the 
distance, I had been told, was about three or 
four miles straight south, so I decided that by 
noon I could be at our former old camp and 
then resting up a little, hunt back over the strip, 
and get into camp towards evening, and the fol- 
lowing account of the adventure, which was pub- 
lished in The National Sportsman for May, 1903, 
is herewith reproduced as fitly describing my 
day's jaunt. 

I paused in my hurried walk, and mopping the 
sweat from my perspiring brow, turned in my 
tracks to take a swift glance at my surroundings, 
the ground that lay back of me as well as that be- 
fore me. The sight sent a chill to my very heart. 
It was an old log road leading I knew not where, 
through a great swamp, with nothing to be seen 
but a swamp and cold leaden sky, while dreariness, 
dark, gloomy and foreboding, seemed everywhere. 
On every side were the tall cedar, spruce and hem- 
lock trees, while pools of water and oozy slime filled 
the old road; dead trees, fallen branches and an 
occasional pine stump lined the way, not a very in- 
viting prospect indeed. My mind was running 
quickly and seemed to travel a million miles a sec- 
ond, while I began to meditate in audible tones. 
Some of the words I fear would not look good in 
print, so I will not repeat the whole dialogue which 
I was carrying on with myself, and some unknown 



92 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

cause which I sought to blame for my ill luck. The 
colloquy ran as follows : 

"Well, you are a good one (meaning myself) to 
come out here this morning and get lost in this little 
garden patch of woods." This strip was 12 by 15 
miles, and it was nearly night. "Here you have 
hunted over this doggoned peninsula and two- 
thirds of the United States and never failed to get 
into camp before, and confound your clumsy being, 
if I don't actually believe you will have to roost 
here somewhere in this beastly swamp with wolves, 
bears and lynxes prowling around you this night 
and not even a place to build a fire. Al, you ought 
to hire a good kicking machine just as soon as you 
(if you ever do) reach civilization again, which 
now seems rather doubtful. Where in 'Hail 
Columbia' does this infernal road lead to, anyway? 
I know I have followed this stupid compass straight 
south since morning, and how did I cross that road 
which runs west ? And how in the Kingdom Come 
can any live man travel straight south for half a 
day and not cross two roads running due west which 
are supposed to be four miles from his starting 
point ?" And so the argument went on ; meantime 
I noted the gathering clouds in the western sky 
which betokens an early night and one of the deep- 
est darknesses in this latitude. All these thoughts 
ran through my mind quicker than I can tell them, 
besides many others unexpressed. I knew that 
in some manner I had missed my calculations, 
and was mixed in my bearings ; I knew also that I 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 93 

had little time for reflection, and that unless I 
wanted to stay in that horrible swamp all night 
and perhaps wander around for days after, I must 
do something to put myself on the right road out, 
and do it quickly. In vain did T scan the roadside 
for some familiar object, a tree, a stump, or a log 
which I could recognize as having seen before, but, 
although I had hunted in the Big Elbow country 
during four years past and tramped all over the 
ground, I failed to recognize anything I had ever 
seen before. 

While I stood thus for a moment contemplating 
these problems, I heard the howl of a big, gaunt 
wolf coming from out of the swamp on the west. 
I glanced at the old reliable 30-30 held in my 
hands, felt for the extra cartridges I always car- 
ried, and knew I had 30 besides those in the rifle, 
and I had fired but one shot and that at a running 
doe, early in the day, but scored a miss. That 
blood-curdling howl coming from the depths of 
wilderness and unpenetrable gloom sent the cold 
chills chasing up my spine, and while I felt secure 
enough during the daylight, I knew when night 
came on I should, in this swamp, be in a bad posi- 
tion; therefore I hurried along, splashing through 
water and slime and brushing the twigs from my 
eyes as I pushed along the edge of the road, hoping 
that I should soon find my way out to some road 
that I knew. 

In the morning I had started to walk across a 
strip of woods four miles wide and hit an east and 
west road on which I had camped for three pre- 



94 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

vious seasons. There was a road which branched 
off the old east and west road two miles west, and I 
had figured to cross this branch first as it ran about 
west, also, but turned north after three miles. At 
12:30 I crossed a road running west and supposed 
it was the branch road, and that I would come to 
the main road in about thirty minutes, but having 
walked steadily for three hours since and not found 
it, I knew I had crossed the main road beyond 
where the branch road came into it, and was there- 
fore far south of the road and too far to try to re- 
trace my way. But I must get out. 

At last I came to another log road running east, 
and remembering the stage road should be east of 
me, I started on this road, almost fearful it would 
after all lead me farther into the swamp, but I 
pushed on, hoping for the best. After 30 minutes' 
hard walking, what was my joy to see before me in 
the distance the tops of two canvas tents. Oh! 
how good that sight seemed to me, and I hurried 
on. Approaching the tents I soon discovered all 
were empty of human beings, as the hunters had 
evidently eaten a hurried meal and gone into the 
woods. The tents were pitched on the edge of the 
hard-wood and swamp, and the road led into the 
hard-wood east, and I started, knowing that if I de- 
sired I could return to this camp and stay all night. 
However, as the hard-wood offered a good place to 
build a fire, make a bed and rest, I did not much 
care, but I could not repress a shudder when I 
thought of myself lost in that dismal swamp. It 
was now past four o'clock and twilight was falling. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 95 

The road I was traveling was hard and smooth, and 
I made fast time, and 30 minutes brought me to 
another road running north and south, which I dis- 
covered to my great joy was the old stage road 
which ran directly past our camp. I knew exactly 
where I was as soon as I stepped onto the stage road, 
and it was just eight miles south of our camp. 
Drawing the lunch from my hunting coat pocket, 
I devoured it eagerly as I pushed along, tired, but 
glad I was lucky enough to reach the good old road 
before dark. 

At a little past six I stepped into the tent. What 
a glorious supper we had that night ! The frying- 
pan was heaped with fresh, juicy venison steak, 
the rich coffee boiled to a perfect tone, and what ap- 
petites we brought to invade that meal! After 
supper, we piled the camp stove full of wood and, 
filing our pipes, I related to Pardner the adven- 
tures of the day, and he in turn told me of his. The 
memory of that hour is with me yet, and will always 
be a vivid recollection in my mind. As I peeped 
from the tent and beheld the starry firmament above 
I felt almost like reciting those beautiful lines of 
Shelley's: 

"How beautiful this night, the balmiest sigh 

Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear 

Were discord to the speaking quietude 

That wraps this marvelous scene. 

Heaven's ebon vault 

Studded with stars luiutterably bright 

Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, 

Seems like a canopy which love has spread 

To curtain her sleeping world." 



96 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

Nov. 10. — Today, Sunday, we stayed in camp 
nearly all day, but in the afternoon took a walk 
west a mile or two for exercise, but saw nothing 
worth mentioning. 

Nov. 1 1 . — Clark went west today about a mile 
and a half, and after spending about three hours in 
the woods, and not seeing anything he started 
home by way of the log road, and saw two deer 
running north across the road ahead of him, about 
twenty rods. They were about six rods apart and 
going like a cyclone, but he pumped two shots out 
of his 40-82 cannon at them, just to augment their 
speed a little. 

I went east this morning out towards the bay, 
but although signs were quite plentiful, saw no 
deer. About 3 this afternoon it began to rain and 
soon came down in torrents, accompanied by wind, 
thunder and lightning. I had to run for more than 
a mile after I reached a road, but got almost 
drenched then before reaching camp. This is the 
first time I have ever known a genuine thunder- 
storm to occur in this northern country in Novem- 
ber. The storm which followed tonight was terri- 
ble, and rocked the tent and made the great trees 
bend and groan over and around us until we were 
so nervous we could not sleep until after mid- 
night, 

Nov. 12. — This morning the ground was covered 
with'a fresh fall of snow, which came last night after 
the rain, and it is cooler. Going in south and Clark 
straight west, I struck some ridges southwest of the 




THE BEAVER HOUSE. FIRST VIEW. 




THE BEAVER POND. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 97 

camp, and after tramping a couple of hours I had 
the good luck to jump two big deer, and shot at the 
buck as he went out of his bed on the jump, but did 
not hit him. 

I was coming up over a sharp ridge, or hogsback, 
and paused just at the edge of the hill to look the 
ground over carefully before going farther. A 
large buck and doe were lying in plain sight of me 
about ten rods to the right, but so cautiously had 
I approached them that they did not hear nor see 
me until I stepped out in plain view on top of the 
ridge. I had just turned my head to take a sweep 
of the little valley to the left when up went the two 
deer together, the buck rising from his bed and 
leaping into space in a sort of uncoiling way, it 
seemed to me, so I had only time to get his move- 
ment and pull the trigger; but he was away in a 
second, fast disappearing amid the trees far to the 
west, while his mate, the doe, I did not see at all 
after her first jump, but both went in the same gen- 
eral direction. Going on farther west I saw an- 
other deer, but this one was running also, so I did 
not try a shot, as it was too far and uncertain. 

Clark had a regular picnic, he says, having seen 
six today. He shot at two standing, but did not 
kill either. He says he had a peck of fun but got 
no deer. I told him he was having fine luck in see- 
ing game, and he would score some of these days. 

Nov. 13. — I returned to camp at 11 today, and 
in a few minutes afterward Clark came in and said 
he had killed a nice young buck about three miles 



98 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

west. We finished cutting some wood which I had 
begun, took a hurried lunch and started for the 
scene of the kilHng, to hang up Clark's buck. We 
reached the place after an hour's swift walking, 
and I soon cut the deer open and dressed it out, 
and we hung it up good and high, away from the 
bears and wolves. 

It was so near night after we finished our work 
of getting the buck in shape to leave it in the woods 
that we started for camp and did not get in until 
dark, and so tired, too, we could scarcely walk. 

Nov. 14. — This morning Clark started west, and 
after going about two miles saw a nice doe running, 
but she was too far away before he could shoot, so 
he let her go unmolested. I took a trip east out 
towards the bay, as my former trip in that direc- 
tion was cut short by the rain, but saw nothing but 
fresh tracks. 

Nov. 15 — This morning, when we stepped out of 
the tent, we found about 8 or 10 inches of snow on 
the ground, most of which had fallen in the past 24 
hours, especially during the night. I got out at 
5 :i5 and built a fire in the stove, then started for a 
runway a half mile south, to watch for an hour or 
so. I watched faithfully until nearly 7 o'clock, but 
saw no deer. Came back to the tent, got my break- 
fast, and started west. Before I had proceeded on 
my way a mile I struck the track of a big buck, and 
immediately followed it. The trail was a fresh 
one; could not have been over half an hour old, 
and I did my best to get sight of the old fellow, as I 



or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 99 

knew by the tracks and other signs he was a big one, 
and well worth getting. 

After three hours of the hardest work I ever 
tried in my life, and not catching sight of the game 
I concluded to draw off and let him go, so I started 
south, struck the road west again in about an hour, 
coming out a mile west of where I started in north 
on the trail in the morning. 

I struck in south, angling to the west, and after 
going about a mile up jumped two very large deer 
about 60 rods off to the southwest. They ran like 
the wind just as I sighted them, and of course 
shooting was out of the question, but I consoled 
myself with the thought that I was again in the 
vicinity of game, and it was worth something to see 
it, even if I could not shoot. 

After the deer had passed out of sight, I started 
in the direction they went, going very slowly and 
cautiously. I had reached the top of one of those 
sharp ridges and was standing still, looking down a 
V-shaped draw to the west, when I caught sight of 
two deer walking slowly along the bottom some 
fifty rods away. The wind was in my favor, and I 
stood far above them, and they were headed north, 
while I faced west. Presently they stopped in a 
little copse of brush which was so thick I could only 
make out one head and nose, which protruded from 
just behind a small tree some six or eight inches 
through. I drew a bead on that sharp pointed 
mark, but said to myself, too far away, and the 
mark too small, but before I could shoot one of the 



LofC. 



lOO Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

deer began walking away to the north, and as it 
came to a stop in a partially open place I pulled my 
rifle on him and fired. At the crack of the rifle he 
lunged forward, or jumped. I don't know which, 
and away he went like a cyclone. 

I marked the spot as well as I could with my eye, 
and after throwing another cartridge into the bar' 
rel, started to find the trail and investigate as to 
whether my bullet struck him or not. The distance 
was about 35 rods, and a downward slanting shot, 
so I feared in the darkness of the woods, under such 
circumstances, I had overshot my mark. After 
some time I found the trail, and there was no evi- 
dence of a hit so far as the game was concerned, 
but I did find where my bullet splintered a small 
tree which stood some 60 feet from where the deer 
stood when I shot, and happened to be directly in 
line with the game, although at the distance I was 
shooting I did not see the tree at all. The bullet 
struck squarely in the center of the sapling, passed 
through, and left the wood in splinters. Whether 
the ball glanced or I shot too high I don't know, 
but I took the deer's track and followed it about a 
mile, and no blood signs appeared; but how he 
did jump ! I have seen some tall running by deer 
before, but this exhibition took the plum. At one 
place he leaped over a tree-top four feet high, in 
the middle of a jump of about thirty feet, and a lit- 
tle further along he plunged down a deep draw, 
and his track down the steep sides looked like the 
path of a small avalanche. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor loi 

When he reached the bottom there was a small 
pond of water with a Httle ice, and snow covering 
it. Into this he landed squarely in the middle from 
his last jump coming down the other side, and the 
water was muddy for lo feet around on every side, 
while water flew out in all directions, and could be 
seen on the snow. This little bath seemed to be 
really just what he needed, for he unlimbered him- 
self right then and there in a way that would put to 
shame a Rocky Mountain sheep, and up the steep 
hill he went at terrific jumps. I could scarcely 
climb the place, it was so steep, and caught hold of 
bushes to keep from sliding backward into the 
water. 

At last I reached the top of the ridge, and Great 
Scott, what an exhibition that buck must have 
made as he cut through the atmosphere after 
reaching level ground above the ridge ! The tracks 
were so far apart I could scarcely believe that one 
jump would cover such a distance. Pretty soon I 
came to a place where he had been joined by another 
deer, and they both lit out for tall timber together, 
running side by side. As it was now getting dark, 
I started for camp, which I reached after dark, 
tired and happy, and with a good appetite. 

This evening, after a hearty supper and a deli- 
cious pipe, we had a good laugh over the acrobatic 
sprinting of my lost deer. 

Nov. 1 6 — I got up this morning at 5 o'clock, 
cooked my breakfast and started west again, turn- 
ing in south and going over about the same ground 



I0 2 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

I did yesterday, where I saw the four deer. There 
were no fresh signs to be seen. The deer which 
were in that part of the woods yesterday were evi- 
dently not there today, as I hunted the ground 
over very carefully and found no tracks freshel 
than those made last evening or yesterday after' 
noon. Still I concluded that game must be some 
where in the woods, so I started farther west than 
I had ever been before. 

I crossed an old road and struck in due west, vow- 
ing that I would go on clear to the river, nine miles, 
but that I would have a deer before night. My 
blood was up and I meant business. The way the 
game had been playing hide-and-seek with me dur- 
ing the past few days was all very good as a joke, 
but it was no joke to go without meat in the camp, 
so I detemined to bag some venison or know the 
reason why. 

After crossing the old road I continued on west, 
coming to another draw. I descended to a level 
piece of bottom covering a few acres, with trees 
scattering. Crossing over this I approached the 
opposite bank which was very steep, and began to 
climb to the top. Just before reaching the top I 
paused to look over the ground ahead. Nothing 
appearing, I walked on slowly. Pretty soon I saw 
where a deer had jumped from its bed and ran west. 
This was a fresh track too, and I felt encouraged. 
About 40 rods farther along I saw where three deer 
had been lying down among some old birch tops, 
and had evidently heard or seen me coming and 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 103 

had run. Then I made up my mind to go slower and 
be more cautious, as the game was certainly in that 
locality, and I meant to get the drop on one before 
long. 

Finally I stopped near a large beech tree and 
watched closely for any signs of game. Ten min- 
utes passed. I was getting cold and restless, and 
wanted to move on, but something impelled me to 
wait just a minute more. So I stood perfectly still 
another five minutes, and just as I was about to 
take a step forward I caught sight of a moving ob- 
ject a little to my left which was coming out from 
among the trees. A second glance and I saw it was 
a big buck, a royal old fellow with antlers like a 
rocking chair. He was coming a little toward me, 
but going across my line of vision to the south. His 
head was swaying up and down gently and from 
side to side as he walked along rapidly. The dis- 
tance was perhaps 25 rods, and it took me about 
three or four seconds to decide what to do, but I 
did it quickly. I decided to shoot on the spot, as I 
knew if he got the least bit of my wind, or saw a 
movement of my body, he would be gone in a 
twinkling, so I drew the old 30-30 down fine on his 
shoulder blade, held low and pressed the trigger. 

Did you ever stand behind a trusty gun and see 
the game fall as the gun cracked ? Then you know 
my feelings that next moment, as I noted the big, 
noble buck drop to the ground at the crack of the 
rifle. But though he is down I never say he is 
mine until I know it, and can place my hand on 



I04 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

his inanimate body, so in a twinkling I had worked 
the lever, thrown out the empty shell and had an- 
other one in the barrel and gun held in position for 
instant use. He began to lunge forward, and once 
or twice attempted to get up on his knees, but 
would fall back to the ground only to try again. 
I never can bear to see an animal suffer, and so I 
approached slowly to within about fifty yards, 
aimed a shot at his neck just back of the ear, and 
he fell at the crack of the gun never to rise again. 

Well, here was my game, and royal game, too, a 
ten-point buck that would weigh probably 250 
pounds. But I was alone, and some miles from 
camp, so I decided to try and hang him up. The 
job was bigger than I anticipated, and after work- 
ing and tugging for two hours I gave it up. The 
buck had been killed about 11 .'30, and so at 1 130 I 
was still in doubt what to do. At last I whipped 
out my hunting knife, slit him open and cleaned 
him out, and then drew the carcass on top of a fallen 
tree, allowing it to bleed nicely and concluded to 
leave him there and go back to camp and get Clark 
to help me handle him. I blazed a trail back to 
the old road, and then started for camp, where I 
arrived just at dusk. 

Clark was in and had the fire going. He said he 
had been east and had seen a big buck running, but 
could not get a shot at him. In the afternoon he 
came into camp and then went to Weaver's for 
supplies, and brought back bread, cookies, fried 
cakes and a pail of nice, fresh milk. These are 




OUR LOAD STARTS FOR 1111, KAILWAY STATION. 




ON TAH-QUA-MR-NON BAY 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 105 

truly luxuries in camp life, and we are very glad we 
have so good a place to camp, and that Mr. Wea- 
ver and his estimable wife are so good to us, to sup- 
ply our wants in this line. What a repast we en- 
joyed this evening! Nothing can be compared to 
the feast we sat down to, not even a banquet. I 
think we quit eating from exhaustion. Certain it 
is, one never feels that he has enough in this cli- 
mate. 

Just before retiring Clark stepped outside the 
tent and heard the shrill cry of a lynx back of our 
tent, in the direction of the swamp. 

Nov. 1 7 . — There is good tracking snow now, and 
sleighs are being used on the stage road. We see 
plenty of deer tracks every day, but no wolf or bear 
tracks. The grouse which were so plentiful the fore 
part of the season seem very scarce, as I have not 
seen one in two weeks. 

This morning after breakfast we started to the 
scene of the killing of the big buck yesterday by 
myself, and after an hour's hard walking reached 
the place and proceeded to finish the job whch I 
was unable to do alone yesterday. First we secured 
a couple of kodak exposures of the old monarch as 
he lay on the snow in the heart of the forest. Noth- 
ing had been near or touched the carcass, but just 
as we were taking a picture the howling of wolves 
far to the west could be heard. 

To hang up a 250-pound deer in the woods is 
easy if you know how and have a good axe or 
hatchet, and a mighty hard and difficult job if you 



io6 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

don't know how. But as I had hung up a few be- 
fore and helped to swing up a larger number, we 
went to work and did the job in good shape in fif- 
teen minutes. First we selected a young tree, tall 
and straight, with forked branches near the top, 
which Clark shinned up something after the style 
he would use in case a bear were after him. His 
weight soon bent the tree to the ground where I 
stood. I grabbed the top branches of the tree and 
held it down while he cut off the limbs, then Clark 
sat on the top of the tree, holding it down with his 
weight, while I dragged the buck up to the crotch 
we had cut the top from, and inserted the antlers 
into the V-prongs of the tree, then tied them fast 
with a bit of rope, so it would not slip. Then we 
left the tree to swing up, the buck's body holding 
the top down. In the meantime "we had cut two 
poles about eight feet long, each having a crotch at 
the end. Clark took one pole and I took the 
other. He stood on the left side of the tree on 
which hung the buck, and I on the right. 

The crotches were inserted or placed against 
the tree just back of the buck's head, and when 
firmly planted each one seized his pole in both 
hands, bent our bodies and lifted the deadweight, 
at the same time exclaiming together, "Up he 
goes." At each upward pull we slid our poles 
along so they caught in the ground and held the 
body where we lifted it. Three or four lifts result- 
ed in placing the carcass high enough so that the 
hind legs swung six inches clear of the ground, and 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 107 

we voted it high enough. Once firmly hung up 
in this style a deer will keep nicely for weeks in 
the woods, and the wolves will not touch it. The 
blood also drains out nicely, and the head being 
out of reach a bear will rarely touch it 

After finishing the job of hanging up my buck, 
I consulted my watch and found it was i o'clock. 
We had a lunch in our pockets which we ate, after 
which Clark started back toward the spot where 
I had killed the buck, saying he would go on farther 
west, and then towards night start for home. I 
took my gun and started in west, going perhaps a 
mile, following along a Httle stream and up over 
some sharp ridges. 

It was quite still in the woods, but as it had been 
thawing the snow was soft and one could get 
along quite still. I saw the largest number of 
deer tracks I had seen in one day, but mostly 
tracks a day or two old. 

At half past two I turned north, intending to 
hunt straight out to the road which I calculated 
was a mile or so to the north and ran east and 
west. After going north about 80 rods I all at 
once saw a deer jump up the side of a ridge, stop 
on top and stand perfectly still, ears thrown 
forward, and evidently looking and listening for 
the noise and suspected danger it had felt, as it 
probably heard me coming but had not seen me 
yet. Of course at the first movement of the deer 
I stopped, looked at the object sharply, and made 
out what I supposed was a good sized doe. 



io8 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

It was then getting quite dark in the woods, 
the sun being hidden behind the clouds, and I 
had just come up out of a deep draw where it 
was almost like night, it was so dark with the 
thick hemlock tops loaded with snow. Aha! 
I thought, that's a nice little doe, just what we 
need for camp meat, so I raised my rifle, drew 
down fine on the shoulder and pulled the trigger. 
What a wonderful and fearful thing is the modern 
high power smokeless rifle! Why, that deer 
seemed to fall before tho gun cracked. It went 
down all in a heap, and I could not see anything 
of it except its feet, which seemed to be dangling 
in the air. It was a long shot, so far that I had 
feared before I fired that even if I hit the deer it 
might only be wounded and get away. The 
distance was nearly 200 yards, and at last I came 
up to the spot. The snow was crimsoned with 
blood, and there lay the game shot through the 
neck about 8 inches below the nose. 

Always a merciful hunter, I drew my hunting 
knife from my belt and cut the jugular vein in 
its throat, and turned it over on its side so it 
would bleed out good. Wiping my knife on some 
leaves and snow I began to wonder how I was to 
get my game out to the road. I had some rope 
left in my pocket, so I tied a piece around the 
deer's head, took the other in my hand, first 
passing the rope over my shoulders, grasped my 
rifle in the other and started. There was a very 
deep draw right in front of me. I took my com- 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 109 

pass as a guide and made straight north, as I knew 
by so doing I could reach the road. Down that 
draw we plunged, that is I did, the deer sliding over 
the snow like a toboggan. I got about half way- 
down when the blamed thing bumped against 
my heels knocking me off my balance and away 
we went headlong down into the snow, deer, gun 
and man together. After sliding 30 feet and 
rolling and tumbling I managed to stop myself, 
untwisted the rope, brushed the snow out of my 
eyes and took an inventory of myself and load. 
After a second or two spent thus I discovered we 
were all there yet, but a little soiled from handling 
as it were, but still in the ring. So getting things 
in shape I again started for the bottom of the draw 
which I reached without further mishap. 

At a quarter to six, I reached the tent, just 
about exhausted, and wet with sweat. My long, 
hard pull had told fearfully on me and I was 
ready to quit. Clark had supper all ready and 
was out to the road looking for me. 

We decided to skin the deer at once, as it was 
still warm, and could be done so much easier 
than after the carcass had become stiff and frozen. 
So we took our lanterns, grabbed our hunting knives 
and fell to work. In 15 minutes the hide lay 
in the tent, the carcass was quartered and hung 
up on spikes driven into a near-by tree, and we 
washed up for supper. Hungry, well, you don't 
have to guess again, for we had an appetite some- 
thing akin to a half-famished wolf. 



no Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

After a good, hearty meal, and pipes were 
lighted, and the fragrant blue smoke rolling up 
around us in graceful little curls and clouds, 
Clark told me about how he had seen a nice young 
buck when he was on the way home in afternoon ; 
the deer ran across the road about 20 rods ahead 
of him, stopped a few rods this side of the swamp 
and looked at him. He raised his rifle to shoot, 
but before he could press the trigger, the buck 
gave a sudden bound into the air, and was away 
in a flash over the hills. I tell him he must be 
quick and sure of his aim to get them, as they 
don't give you much time to shoot. But he is 
doing pretty well, and we both feel pretty well 
satisfied with our luck so far. At 9 o'clock we 
turned in, rolling the warm woolen blankets well 
around us, and dropped off into pleasant dreams. 

Nov. 18. — Clark went out this morning and 
traveled some three miles west. He reports 
seeing a very large buck about 30 rods off; the 
old fellow was walking along pretty fast, and the 
brush was so thick around he could not get a good 
shot at him and waited for a better view. But 
pretty soon the buck gave a terriffic snort, and 
away he went, his big white flag high in the air, 
as he bounded over a hill, and was gone, snorting as 
he ran. Clark says he could hear the thump, 
thump, of his powerful hoofs as he pounded the 
frozen earth at each mighty bound, and the still 
air fairly reverberated with his defiant snorts. 

Could some of those who have that "tired 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor m 

feeling," and can't get up an appetite, have been 
here tonight to sit down with us to supper, I 
imagine they would have forgotten their ills and 
abandoned their dyspeptic thoughts in the con- 
templation and realization of a feast for king or 
peasant. Here is our spread, which I believe would 
tempt most any hunter to become suddenly 
hungry : 

Venison Steak 

Cold Boiled Heart Fried Bacon 

Fried Onions 

Potatoes with Jackets on 

Fresh White Bread Buns 

Dairy Butter 
Hot Coffee — Rich and Black 

Fresh Milk and Cream 

Sugar Clover Honey 

Raspberry Sauce 

Cucumber Pickles Cold Baked Beans 

Spring water from Silver Creek 

Crackers Fried Cakes 

After enjoying the above menu for our supper, 

we sit for an hour or two before our cozy fire, 

puffing at our pipes and spinning over again some 

yarns half untold. I step to the outside of the 

tent, and gaze into the sky. There is a beautiful 

crescent or half moon, which is surrounded by 

fleeting clouds, which float over airily, leaving 

occasional periods of darkness succeeded by 

flashes of bright moonlight which floods the forest 

around, glistening with its coat of snow and frost. 



112 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

All is still as death, and I withdraw to the tent 
where warmth and good cheer abound. 

Nov. 20. — Went out today and dragged Clark's 
deer out to the road near mine, so we can load 
both in at same time and place tomorrow morning. 
As I could not get Mr. McMullen to haul us out 
before Saturday or Sunday, he having so many 
other parties to get out of the woods, I secured 
the services of Mr. Weaver, who says he will see 
us out tomorrow. So tonight we enjoyed another 
big feast, and after many pipes and yarns we 
turned in for the last night's sleep in the camp of 
1901 




A. D. SHAFFMASTER AND HIS GREAT WOLF. 




OUR CAMP ON SILVER CREEK, 1902. 



SIXTH ANNUAL HUNT. 
Chapter VI. 

Who can paint 
Like Nature? Can imagination boast, 
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers? 

— Thomson in the Seasons. 

Eckerman, Nov. 4.— Arrived here at noon 
today after a hard, tedious trip, made so by close 
quarters in the cars, as the train was crowded and 
we were cramped up in an uncomfortable position 
all night, consequently had no sleep. 

On arriving, found my box and bear trap, which 
were shipped by freight, had arrived all right. 
There is the largest crowd of hunters this year 
I ever saw since coming to this section to hunt. 
Some 38 hunters came in on our train today, and 
more arriving each train. The capacity of the 
hotel here is taxed to the utmost to take care of 
them. However, thanks to the goodness of Mr. 
Martin, the landlord, we were given the best 
room in the hotel, and our other wants were 
equally well supplied. 

Nov. 6. — Here we are again in camp; arriAred 
at I o'clock this afternoon. The roads were some- 
thing awful after the rain of yesterday, and Mr. 
McMullen had such a big load we had to walk 
nearly all the way in. Clark Green, who is with 
me again this year, walked all the distance and 
I rode four miles and walked nine. The old camp 

113 



114 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

site looked natural as ever, and the little brook, 
or Silver Creek, as it is named, was babbling along 
as brightly and sparkling as ever. We drank 
from the ice cold stream again and oh, how good 
it seemed. 

The bear trap came all right, and every time 
Green looks at its massive jaws and big iron ring 
and heavy chain, he bursts out laughing, and 
says it looks big enough to hold an elephant. 
But it requires quite a trap to hold a bear, and 
that is what we want. In a few days, or soon as 
possible, will set the trap, hoping to get a "bar." 

Silver Creek Camp, Nov. 7. — The weather has 
been fine today, and we hustled to get our camp 
in shape for convenience and comfort. It took 
us all day to complete the job, but tonight we 
can survey our day's labor with satisfaction. 
We have everything as cozy and snug as one 
could wish for in the woods. This year we 
have a log camp, which we thoroughly fumi- 
gated and cleaned out and fixed up. We had 
to build a door and put it on with a lock and iron 
hinges which I had in my box for such a purpose ; 
also repaired the roof, using a roll of tar paper, and 
built shelves in the room, and built us a com- 
fortable bed. Our bedstead we nailed up of 
boards, and placed poles lengthwise of the frame. 
Then we placed freshly cut spruce and hemlock 
boughs over the poles, then added a big supply 
of clean baled hay and fine tops of spruce and 
hemlock. On top of this we spread a clean, 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 115 

white, new canvas and nailed one end of same 
high on the wall over the head of our bed, so the 
effect is one of neatness and cleanliness. On the 
canvas we spread our woolen blankets and several 
quilts, then our pillows, and the result is, I can 
tell you, a bed of great comfort and rest. 

Nov. 8. — We started this morning at daylight, 
Green taking the north side of the west road and 
I the south side, both of us going west as the wind 
was blowing from the west. The woods were 
what is known as still; that is, not much wind 
and no noise to speak of such as rustling dry 
leaves, swaying branches, etc. The recent rain 
made the leaves damp, and one could walk very 
still; but if we could go still the deer could also, 
and their sharp ears and alert eyes were always in 
readiness to see or hear any approaching danger, 
it seemed. I felt good and wore my moose hide 
moccasins, which are said to be the stillest hunting 
shoe made, and I can tell you I went up through 
those woods with the tread of a cat — not a twig did 
I crack, but though I walked two or three miles, 
up to II o'clock I saw no deer, partridge or other 
game. 

Resuming my tramp I did not see anything 
until about i in the afternoon, when I caught sight 
of the body of a deer standing some 8 rods away 
and so I could not see its head as there was a 
tree in front of it; I noted that the portion I 
wanted to shoot at was visible — that is the fore 



ii6 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

shoulder — and drawing down fine I pressed the 
trigger. 

As the 30-30 cracked, the game tumbled in a 
heap, and up jumped another deer some 10 rods 
to my right. This was a doe and she was already 
in the air and going fast, but I cut loose again 
and she kept going, as the shot was not expected 
to hit her. My game proved to be a fine little 
buck. I went to work then and hung him up 
and after seeing that he was nicely cleaned out 
and bled, I blazed a trail to the north road, and 
reached camp at 3:30. 

I met Green on the way and he was going out 
again after having been back to camp since morn- 
ing. He reported seeing two deer, but both were 
running so fast he could not get a shot. He came 
in again about 4:30, and said he had seen another 
small deer, also on the run and fired at him just to 
help him keep up speed. 

Silver Creek Camp, Nov. 9. — Raining again 
tonight and the weather continues warm. We 
worked around the camp nearly all day, but took 
a walk in north along the edge of the swamp to 
look for bear signs, as we heard yesterday that 
bear had been seen in there and a man told Green 
he had shot at one twice last Thursday, but did 
not get it. We expected to set our bear trap if 
we found signs to warrant it. Before we got to 
the place we saw three deer, a doe and two young 
deer, and Green shot the doe. So we had to 
hang up the one he killed and blaze a trail to the 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 117 

nearest road. This took us about an hour, and 
then we returned to camp, not having found the 
place we started for. We will try again in a day 
or two to find the place, which is in the edge of the 
swamp northwest of our camp two or three miles. 

The effect of camp life on our systems is magical. 
Now as for myself, I can hardly believe it, but 
I feel like a boy. I can eat as much as any two 
ordinary men around home, and sleep like a log 
at night and in the morning I arise and feel rested, 
although at night I am often veiy tired from 
hard work, tramping in the woods and doing work 
around our camp. There is lots of real hard 
work to be done in a camp, that is, if you want a 
comfortable camp, and live neat and clean, which 
we do. We keep everything as neat and clean 
as at home, especially our persons and our table. 
Dishes are washed after each meal and a neat, 
white table cloth spread over the table. 

For a carpet, we use freshly cut and gathered 
spruce and hemlock boughs, and scatter on the 
floor, which lends a softness to the tread and 
distills in the camp the spicy aroma of the woods. 

Nov. 10. — We did but little hunting today, but 
put in the time looking around. This forenoon 
we brought in the little buck which I shot on the 
8th, and I skinned one half and cut off, leaving 
the saddles to send home. After finishing dressing 
the deer, we hung up the pieces on spikes driven 
into nearby trees to keep until such time as we 
wanted to use it. This evening we had a pretty 



ii8 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

good supper as the following menu will show: 

SUPPER 
Venison Steak Fried Bacon 

Buckwheat Cakes 
Canned Plums Crabapple Jelly 

Clover Honey 
White Bread Dairy Butter 

Fried Cakes Cookies 

Coffee Condensed Milk Spring Water 

The weather was bright today, but cooler, 
temperature 28 above this morning, and a little 
frost last night. We are looking for a snow 
storm now most any time. 

Nov. II. — A hard rain and wind storm is raging 
with unabated fury tonight — the rain beats down 
on our tar paper roof like the noise of roaring 
musketry, while the wind sweeps through the 
forest swaying the tree tops and branches like 
reeds ; how the moaning sounds roll along in billows 
of flying spray, as the heavy gusts strike the 
woods. But our cabin is snug and cozy, a fire 
snaps and crackles in the stove, while the savory 
smell of roasting venison floats up around us. 

Today I tramped south and west four or five 
miles, returning at i .-30 this afternoon, as I wanted 
to send out on the stage the saddles of the little 
deer I cut up yesterday. I sent the venison out 
all right, and hope it will reach home in good 
condition. While I saw eight deer today, I did 
not get a shot at but one of them, and that was 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 119 

fired at a running doe; all the others I saw got up 
and ran before I could get close enough to shoot. 
Green saw but one deer today, and fired at that 
one, which was on the run, and as he says, in a 
hurry. 

Nov. 12. — Not much accomplished today, as 
it was a poor one for hunting, everything was 
soaking wet from the storm of last night. Green 
saw one deer, a big buck, which was running, and 
too far away to shoot at with any chances of 
hitting, so he let him go. I was out only a part 
of the day, but did not see a deer. I found some 
signs of bear in west of us about two and one-half 
miles. 

Nov. 13. — A little snow last night followed the 
rain, but not enough for tracking. Received 
my first letter today and some papers from home. 
Green did not see any deer today. I went in south 
and west and had a queer experience. After 
getting in the woods a mile and a half or so, I 
thought I saw a large deer standing still, or a log 
which much resembled one; so I watched it as 
carefully as I could for a minute and decided it 
might be a deer, so pulled up and fired, as I of 
course expected if it was a deer that the shot fired 
at it would decide that for me, but it did not, as the 
object remained perfectly still, and though I 
looked at it as sharp as I possibly could for fully 
five minutes after firing at it, I could not see a 
single movement, so concluded it must be a log, 
I then started to walk over and see where my bullet 



I20 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

struck, when, to my astonishment, the supposed 
log turned into an immense buck, which had been 
coolly watching me all the while, and never moved a 
muscle when I fired at him. He started to walk 
away, and I shot at him again as he moved away 
among the trees, and a doe which lay near him 
jumped up and ran away. He was out of sight so 
quick I could not tell whether I hit him or not. 

This is the first and only instance I ever heard 
of where a deer stood still after being shot at and 
then coolly walk away after the second shot was 
fired at it. It was one of the biggest bucks I ever 
saw, and I regretted more than I can tell that I 
did not get him. 

Nov. 14. — This has been a bad day for our busi- 
ness. I went about three miles west this forenoon 
and it began to rain hard, so had to return to 
camp and got a good soaking before I could get in. 
Changed all my clothing and put on dry clothes and 
did not go out again. 

Nov. 15. — It rained again last night all night 
and snowed a little this morning, melting as fast 
as it came; and made it nasty getting through 
the woods. Green went east and north and saw 
two deer, both on the jump, and he did not shoot 
at them. I started south and traveled west. 
About 9 this morning I saw a buck running towards 
me in the thick woods, and as he came to a stop, 
fired at him at about 20 rods; the light was 
so poor in the woods and I shot so quickly, I 
guess I missed him, and he jumped into the air 



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I. 




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WHERE THi: UEAk \v .^o ^/vLuii i— ukEEN'S DEER. 




A. D. SHAFFMASTER AND THE BLACK BEAR. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 121 

and started to run around me to the south, and 
I fired three more shots at him as he ran. At 
the .^third shot I saw him lunge to one side as 
though hit, but he kept running. There was no 
snow and I could not track him so I had to let 
him go. I think, though, he was wounded, but 
could not tell. 

There are lots of wounded deer this fall on 
account of no snow to track them. We try not 
to shoot at one unless we think we want it and can 
kill it. 

Nov. 17. — We started west this morning with 
high hopes of success, but alas for hunters' luck, 
we did not see a deer in that direction. It seemed 
as though every deer in the woods had hid away 
somewhere and no amount of still hunting would 
disclose his whereabouts. 

After returning from his tramp west, Green 
went out near our camp along the edge of the 
swamp along towards evening and saw two deer, 
but did not get a shot at either one, as they jumped 
and got out of sight too quickly for him to shoot. 

Nov. 18. — For a change, the sun actually shone 
a while today, and it seemed so good to see the 
welcome sunlight again. The weather continues 
very warm, and we sweat like butchers walking 
and working today. This has been quite a day 
of adventure for us and myself especially. I 
started southwest this morning, still-hunting for 
deer, and just for luck followed the blazed trail 
past the spot where I had my little buck hung up. 



122 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

Arriving at the spot, I noted that some animal 
had been there and eaten nearly all the entrails I 
had thrown out when I shot the deer some nine 
days ago. There being no snow, my most care- 
ful examination of the spot failed to disclose the 
slightest clue as to what kind of an animal had 
been nosing around there. But I made up my 
mind that it must have been a bear. Yes, it must 
surely be a bear, I argued to myself, and looking 
carefully around me, I left the spot and struck 
out straight southwest, into what I knew to be 
the most secluded and wildest part of the woods, 
far from any road. 

The sun was shining brightly, while a fresh 
southwest wind whispered softly through the trees 
and swayed the restless branches to and fro, caus- 
ing just the slightest rustle among the leaves. It 
was just such a morning as would delight the 
heart of a sportsman, and fill his soul with silent 
joy. I drew a breath of inward satisfaction as 
I sharply scanned the scene around me, and felt 
the fresh breeze in my face. I had come up 
through the woods pretty careful, not cracking 
a twig, but after passing the spot where the animal 
had worked on the offal of my deer, I proceeded 
slower and with even more caution. In the par- 
lance of the woods, I went through the woods "just 
like a cat," stopping every few steps to watch. 1 
had not gone far from the spot where I killed the 
little buck, when as I was standing and watching 
I caught a glimpse of some animal coming towards 



or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 123 

me from out the thick woods ahead. At first 
sight it appeared quite small, but as it approached 
coming in a very cautious and slinking manner, 
crouching almost to the ground, I saw that it was 
much larger than it appeared on first sight. Dur- 
ing the few seconds it had been approaching me, 
I got ready for important business, and stood per- 
fectly motionless, rifle cocked and finger on the 
trigger. On it came straight towards me until it 
had approached within five or six rods, when sud- 
denly it stopped, in a half crouching position, its 
body all concealed from my view, except its head; 
it seemed to be intently listening, and sniffing the 
air to detect the approach of any danger. All 
of this passed almost as quick as thought, and I 
had to act quickly. The very moment the animal 
stopped, I had it covered, and in a second more I 
had drawn a fine bead on the center of its forehead, 
and simultaneously with the pressing of the trigger 
the sharp crack of the old 30-30 awoke the still- 
ness of the forest, and the animal dropped in its 
tracks. Quick as thought I pulled the lever, and 
threw in another cartridge, and watching it closely, 
began slowly and carefully to approach the game. 
Imagine my surprise on getting near to it to see 
it was a very large and ferocious looking timber 
wolf, of which so much has been said and written. 
Well, I just laughed softly and began to feel pretty 
good at my luck. How it was I came to get the 
drop on this old straggler which no doubt had 
pulled down many a deer and had made the dark 



124 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

deep forest resound with its blood-curdling howls 
on many a wintry night, is hard to tell. I made 
back to camp and after we got a lunch, Green and 
I went and brought her in. It was the first wolf 
Green ever saw and the second one I had ever seen 
close to me in the woods. We had a terrible hard 
job to get it to camp, trying first to drag it and then 
tied it on poles and carried it. At last we got in 
just at dark, and so tired we could scarcely step. 
This evening the four hunters across the road came 
over to look at the wolf, as they had never seen one. 
They all shook my hand and said: "Well, good 
for you old man, you're all right." We hung it up 
on the side of the log cabin, and I will measure it 
in the morning. 

Nov. 19. — I measured the wolf this morning and 
the result is as follows : From tip of nose to tip of 
tail, 6 feet; length of fore paw, 22 inches; head 
from ears to nose, 13 inches; body, height from 
ground, 30 inches; around chest, 32 inches; length 
of tail, 20 inches; estimated weight, at least 100 
pounds. 

Hunters who have seen it pronounce it one of 
the largest ever killed in the county. There is a 
state bounty of $15 on a full grown wolf and $5 
bounty in Chippewa county. 

As though this was not enough for one day, 
Green discovered that a bear had torn down the 
deer he had hanging up in the woods and had 
eaten about half of the hind quarters. This had 
been done since last Saturday when the deer was 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 125 

all right. So we got down my bear trap and set it 
under the deer, hoping to catch the thief. We 
also set four wolf traps where the animals had eaten 
the entrails of my deer. 

Nov. 20. — "It never rains but it pours," is an 
old saying, and this would seem to apply to us in 
hunting. 

I led the way along the blazed trail to where we 
set the bear trap by Green's deer yesterday. We 
approached the spot rather carefully and after ten 
minutes' walk was able to make out under the dim 
light of the surrounding trees, the form of the deer, 
still hanging, apparently just as we left it. On 
nearing the spot, however, I paused, and said: 
"See? the clog is gone." 

"Sure enough," replied my companion in a sur- 
prised manner, while we stepped near to the spot 
where the trap had been set. Meanwhile my eyes 
had been roving round, and I quickly exclaimed : 
"There is the trail going right towards the swamp. 
Now, let's after him." 

The marks of the big clog, which was attached 
to the trap, made a plain trail as it dragged through 
the leaves, and the route taken by the bear was 
easily followed by the eye. We walked along rapid- 
ly, keeping a sharp lookout for any new signs of the 
captive. After proceeding in this manner some 
200 yards, we paused to listen. 

"I can hear the chain rattle," Green spoke in a 
low voice, "It's down there in the direction of the 



126 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

swamp," he continued, while I began to peer in 
that direction. 

"Aha, I can see him," I said, at the same time 
pointing to a coal black object seemingly motion- 
less, among a clump of tree trunks a few yards 
ahead. We approached the game softly. Green 
smiling and gripping his gun. When within about 
30 feet of the bear, which had gone as far as it 
could, the clog having been dragged between two 
trees, thus stopping his progress, we paused, and 
Green said: "Shall I shoot him?" "Yes," I re- 
plied, "shoot him just back of the foreleg." 

As Green raised his old 40-82 to his shoulder, 
the bear rolled his little snapping black eyes to- 
wards us, omitted a little subdued growl, and show- 
ed us his good set of teeth. 

Bang, went the old 40-82, and instantly that 
bear gave a leap into the air, coming down on his 
back, and began to roll over and over on the ground 
at the same time giving out a sort of whine or 
squeal. Green still stood there, smiling at the 
antics of the bear, and a smoking gun in his hands. 

"Pump another cartridge into your gun, quick," 
I said, "that bear has squealed, and if there is any 
more bears in this vicinity, which I more than half 
suspect, we are liable to have doings on our hands 
immediately." Green's lever clicked, as another 
cartridge slipped into the barrel. 

Suddenly Green's eyes sought mine with an 
astonished look in their depths, and he whispered, 
*'Hist!" I asked him in a subdued tone what it 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 127 

was, and he said, "Seems just so to me that I 
heard something out there in the swamp cracking 
a twig or stick. There it goes again, right in there 
behind those thick cedars." 

" Give him another shot to stop his squeaHng," I 
whispered, " then we will attend to the other cases." 

Again Green's old cannon roared through the 
silent woods, and our bear gave a convulsive shud- 
der, and lay still. 

"I hear sticks cracking again," said Green, his 
jaw dropping about an inch, while his eyes had a 
wild look in them as he peered into the swamp 
ahead of us. 

"Well, it's the old parent bears, I guess, and they 
may attack us," I whispered. "You watch your 
side and I'll watch mine, and the first glimpse you 
catch of a black head coming out, give it to him, 
and I will do the same. ' ' We waited a few minutes 
but nothing showed up. After resetting the bear 
trap again, we departed. 

It was then about 10:30 and we dragged the 
bear out near the road, a distance of perhaps three- 
quarters of a mile and left it behind a log. We 
wanted to do a little hunting and expected to come 
and get the bear towards evening. 

Green went in on the blazed trail where I shot 
the wolf the day before, to look at the traps we 
set up there and then hunt farther in. I struck 
into the woods opposite where we left the bear and 
went west about a mile, when all of a sudden up 
jumped two deer and ran off like the wind. I was 



128 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

almost even with them before they saw me, and 
so when the first one jumped, up went the old 30-30, 
and a shot went after it ; I could not tell where that 
deer went after I shot, and then the second one 
jumped and started off about like a sky rocket. 
Up came the old rifle again and crack ! she rang out, 
and to my astonishment down went the deer, roll- 
ing head over heels in its headlong fight. I walked 
up to it and saw it was a small doe, but fat and nice. 

I cut a couple of poles and after cutting her open 
and cleaning her out hung her up so high I think 
no bear could reach anything except her feet and 
then he would have to stand on his haunches to 
do it. 

Deer are not safe this fall left in the woods, there 
are so many bear and we know of three deer being 
torn down by them and the carcasses being partly 
or wholly devoured. 

Towards evening we went and brought in the 
bear, which we were able to do with the assistance 
of two of the hunters across the road who kindly 
volunteered to help us. We tied Mr. Bear onto 
two long poles, and then placing the poles on our 
shoulders, two men on a side, the procession started, 
and we reached camp about dark, where we hung 
up the carcass on the side of the log camp. 

Nov. 21. — We went to look at the bear trap 
again this morning, but it was not disturbed, every- 
thing being just as we left it yesterday. Green 
went hunting afterwards, while I returned to camp. 
I worked around camp the rest of the day fixing 




GROUP NO. 2, A. D. S. IX CENTER. 




THE LOAD READY FOR THE STATION. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 129 

up things, also more thoroughly cleaned out the 
bear and washed out the blood with cold spring 
water. 

Green returned about i o'clock, having seen 
nothing, and we took several views of the bear and 
wolf. 

The weather is a record breaker for this section ; 
44 above today, and we sweat like butchers walk- 
ing and carrying nothing. A straw hat and one 
shirt is plenty to keep one comfortable here. 

A number of hunters have seen our bear and 
estimate his weight at 175 to 200. He is very fat 
and as black as a coal. When we hung him up 
today he seemed a good deal larger than yesterday, 
and was about as large as an ordinary man. The 
wolf is the largest of the two animals, that is, 
longer. I have measured both, and find this so. 

Nov. 22. — Looked at the bear trap again this 
morning, but nothing was disturbed near it, so we 
took it up and carried it some 80 rods farther into 
the swamp and reset it, as bear signs were quite 
plenty there. Afterwards we brought in Green's 
deer and cleaned off what was good of the carcass 
and Clark sent it out by a camp team to be shipped 
home by express. 

Nov. 23. — When we went to look at the bear trap 
this morning, what was our surprise to find a fine 
dark marten in it. I was afraid his fur had been 
damaged by the big trap and its ugly pointed jaws, 
but on removing the marten found it all right and 



130 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

not a blemish on the fur. It seems the marten 
sprang onto the pan of the trap to get the piece 
of venison I placed there to tempt a bear, or else he 
could not have sprung the big trap. We reset the 
trap sprinkling the bait with fish oil first and then 
dragging it around up to the trap through the 
woods. Bears can smell fish oil a long distance 
it is also a good lure for marten and fisher. 

After returning from the trap we fixed up our 
game on the outside of our camp and I took some 
kodak views of the same to show our friends at 
home. Then I went to work and skinned the wolf. 
I found it a hard job as I don't pretend to know 
much about such work, but finished my job after 
an hour's hard work. I then salted the head and 
hide to preserve them for the taxidermist. 

Towards evening I took my rifle and went about 
a mile and a half southwest of camp and up jumped 
two deer, but they got out so quick and ran so fast 
I just fanned them a little with one shot. Green 
was out also, but did not see any deer. 

We expect to go out to the station tomor- 
row the 24th, so we are getting our things ready 
tonight. 

We broke camp on the 24th, and on the following 
day I went to Sault Ste. Marie, where I had no 
difficulty in securing the bounty of $20 on my 
wolf, and at the same time saved the head for 
mounting. This I left with a taxidermist in Grand 
Rapids on my way home, and received it nicely 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 131 

mounted a month later. The head now, with the 
bear, and eight fine bucks' heads adorn the walls 
of my office den, and as I look up at the life-hke 
heads, former denizens of the woods, I have a great 
longing for just one more breath of the glorious 
air of the grand old forest away on the Lake Supe- 
rior shore. 



SEVENTH ANNUAL HUNT. 
Chapter VII. 

The hills. 
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
The venerable woods; rivers that move 

In majesty, and the complaining brooks 

—Bryant, in Thanatopsis. 

Silver Creek Camp, Nov. 6, '03. 
After nearly a week's hard work and all the 
troublesome incidents attending the arrival into 
camp, we are here and located. We had an awful 
time this year getting our goods which we shipped 
by freight and also our baggage checked, all of 
which we had to wait for several days after our 
arrival. Then we had to wait for a team to haul 
us into camp, and at last on Wednesday afternoon, 
we managed to get started. We had a big load 
and did not leave the station until afternoon, and 
consequently did not arrive at camp until dark. 
The teamster did not get there until about eight 
o'clock, and in the meantime— Sager, Clark, Rus- 
sell and myself — who came on ahead on foot had 
anything but a cheerful time waiting for the arrival 
of the team. We reached our camping place on 
Silver Creek just at dark. After waiting for the 
team in vain for an hour, we went into an old log 
camp and the boys started a fire inside. The smoke 
nearly put our eyes out, but it was better than 
standing outside in the cold and darkness. Coming 

133 



134 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

in Joe Sager shot a grouse and I missed one. Joe 
also saw a small deer. 

About eight o'clock the load arrived, and as the 
moon had by that time sifted through the clouds 
we could see to unload our goods without a lantern. 
The teamster fed his team and returned to the 
station, while we, after unloading our goods, put 
up the big tent (Sager 's), and made a temporary- 
bed, also set up the stove and had a cup of hot 
coffee. It was a pretty tired lot of men who turned 
in at II o'clock to sleep on a pile of poles covered 
with tents and quilts, but we were so tired we did 
not mind the ridges on the poles nor the absence 
of a spring mattress. 

Our party consists of eight members this year 
all residents of Southern Michigan, and enthusiastic 
sportsmen. With the following brief introductory 
we shall continue our narrative: First, there is 
C. C. Bennett, one of the pioneers of our county, 
and an old-time sportsman, genial and overflowing 
with boyish enthusiasm, even if he is in his 73rd 
year; then there is P. A. Buck, the jolly butcher 
and grocer, who dearly loves a good story, and 
M. M. Clark, the well-known hardware man, the 
son of a sportsman, and himself a devoted enthu- 
siast of the rod and gun, and who has accompanied 
the author on several successful hunting trips; 
then there is Thomas Russell, a prosperous farmer 
and an old timer, who has been on many a deer 
hunt, and loves the sport yet ; Joseph Sager, another 
prosperous farmer, and also the son of a pioneer. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 135 

and grandson of Big John, the Indian hater, who 
belongs to the younger generation of sportsmen; 
J. T. Pickhaver, the brawny blacksmith, an experi- 
enced deer hunter, and his partner from Coldwater, 
Mich., D. A. Buck, at present the efficient sheriff 
of Branch county, who is a successful and enthu- 
siastic sportsman; lastly, the author, whose love 
for the woods and its wild creatures has led him to 
penetrate some of the wildest portions of the 
country in quest of recreation and sport. 

Our bed is a dandy, and reaches across the en- 
tire east end of the tent — 14 feet. We made the 
bed long enough to accommodate six men. After 
building the frame work, we put on small green 
springy poles, then covered all with a foot or more 
of hemlock, spruce and cedar boughs, all cut green, 
and so fresh and aromatic that the odor of the 
balsams will help to lull the tired body to sweet 
sleep and healthful rest. On top of the boughs we 
placed blankets and quilts until we have as soft 
and inviting a bed as any hunter could wish for. 
All of us brought each a pillow and so we are fixed 
nicely for sleeping quarters, one of the most essen- 
tial and important factors in camping. 

We also put up our mail box on the stage road — 
the stage passes within sight of our camp. We 
can get and send mail every day if we choose, quite 
a luxury when you consider we are thirteen miles 
from the station and postoffice. 

The weather, which was very warm during the 
first few days here, is now growing colder. It 



136 H tinting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

spits snow today, and as I write this tonight I 
can hear the northeastern wind beating the 
branches of the forest trees until they give out 
weird sounds — sounds of the night, those eerie 
rustUngs of bush and leaf and twig. The lofty 
hemlocks sway with restless motion and the forest 
seemes awaiting the swirling snow and the early 
presence of winter, but we are so cosy and so warm, 
and the tent is aglow with light and fragrant smoke, 
lazily curling from four pipes, while the boys in- 
dulge in a quiet game and ye editor writes and 
writes. 

Nov. 7. — Art Buck and J. T. Pickhaver, of 
Coldwater, and P. A. Buck, of Bronson, arrived 
in camp this evening. They had a hard time of 
it to get here, having hired two rigs to bring them 
in, one teamster dropped them six miles from 
camp, and so they hired a camp team that hap- 
pened along to bring them the rest of the way. 
We were just eating supper, but hustled around 
and got up a new feast for the hungry new arrivals. 

Nov. 8. — This being the first day of the open 
season for killing deer, most of us took to the 
woods early. Art Buck was the lucky man, and 
got a nice eight-point buck. He, with Pickhaver, 
Joe Sager, Clark, Bennett, P. A. Buck and Tom 
Russell, all went east towards the bay. Art sep- 
arated from the others and took an old logging 
road running towards the bay. This he followed 
two or three miles, and when in sight of the bay, 
up sprang a big buck and started off on a jump. 




ON TOP OF LOOKOUT RIDGE. 




SAGER AND THE EDITOR BRINGING IN AL'S DEER. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 137 

Art got busy with his old 40-82 Winchester, and 
began pumping lead at the old fellow as he bounded 
along, his big body seeming a comparatively small 
mark as he dashed out and in among the brush, 
and under the dark shadows of towering hem- 
locks, but the aim was true, and the buck fell down 
to stay after the third shot. Art rushed up to his 
fallen game and drew his keen-bladed hunting 
knife from his belt and cut the buck's throat so 
he would bleed. Then he realized for the first 
time that although he was Sheriff of Branch county, 
he was alone and miles from camp, and that he 
had a hard job on his hands, so he let out a yell 
for help, which he declares could have been heard 
four miles, and should have disturbed the slumbers 
of the ancient ancestors of the Hurons and Chip- 
pewas, whose bones quietly rest in their Indian 
burying- grounds, a stone's throw from where the 
monarch of the forest lay. Only the mocking 
echoes of his own voice came back to him through 
the forest air. The trees trembled and whispered 
strange sounds in his ears, and far out on beautiful 
White Fish Bay the blue waters of Lake Superior 
tossed and glistened in the rays of a bright sun. 
Finding that no one of his fellow hunters answered 
his call, he went to work in true hunter's style and 
hung up his buck, and then returned to camp, 
where he received the hearty congratulations of 
the boys. 

The rest of the boys got nothing, but sighted one 
or two on the run. The editor saw a deer which 



138 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

he could have killed, but as it was hardly light 
yet in the early morning, and he could only see a 
part of the game, he did not shoot, choosing to 
rather loose a deer than to take a chance of shoot- 
ing at a man, so the deer jumped and ran. 

Nov. 9. — This has been a lucky day for two 
of our party — Joe Sager and J. T. Pickhaver, each 
having killed a buck. Mr. Pickhaver got his on 
a runway, where he went before daylight and 
watched as a cat would for a mouse. At just seven 
o'clock along came a buck and J. T. let him down 
in good style. Joe Sager shot his deer on the run, 
hitting him two or three times at 25 rods on the 
jump — pretty good shooting, eh! The editor got 
a shot at a big buck just at dark as he was return- 
ing from the day's tramp, but could not see or tell 
whether his shots took effect or not, as it was too 
dark. 

Nov. 10. — Rain today; that is, this morning. 
It has been so very warm and dry that a little 
moisture will be welcomed. The editor scored 
and killed a nice fat doe early in the morning, also 
shot at another deer running. In the afternoon 
Art Buck got Bennett's shotgun and went into 
the edge of the swamp looking for partridge. He 
did not see any, but saw four nice deer — two of 
them big bucks. He blazed away at one of them 
with two loads of buckshot, but the old fellow never 
stopped to see Art's chagrined look nor to hear 
the little compliment he spoke to himself about a 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 139 

man nosing around for partridge with an old shot- 
gun when he should have had a rifle. 

Joe Sager, Clark and the writer, went into the 
swamp near where we got the bear last fall and set 
a bear trap this morning. Afterwards we brought 
in Al's deer and hung it up at the camp. 

Nov. 1 1 . — We are dining on venison right along 
now, and Sager's deer is looking rather small, but 
we have plenty more to cut. Raining again today. 
This noon, after a cold lunch, composed of lim- 
berger cheese and hickory-nut cake, we went out 
and brought in Art Buck's deer and hung it up at 
our camp. We have fixed up a big pole and are 
bringing in our deer as fast as they are killed, and 
hang them on the pole where we can look after 
them. The boys went to the bear trap, but noth- 
ing doing there. 

Nov. 12. — The rain last night turned to snow, 
and this morning the ground was nearly covered 
with a light fall of the beautiful. All went into 
the woods. It was frosty and noisy hunting this 
morning, but softened up about noon. Joe Sager 
got four shots at a running doe early in the morn- 
ing, but did not hit her. The editor draws the 
lucky card again today, as he killed another nice 
deer southwest, also located some new choice 
grounds for deer. 

Nov. 13. — Sager, Clark and the editor went 
southwest this morning, partly to hunt and to 
also bring in the deer which the editor killed in that 
section yesterday. We started early in the morn- 



I40 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

ing — in fact, the moon and stars were our light 
through the woods for the first mile or so, as it was 
before daylight when the three hunters struck 
into the road leading west towards the river. 
With a 5 o'clock breakfast and only a small bite 
of cold meat, bread or ginger snaps and an apple, 
perhaps, a fellow is quite liable to get up an appetite 
by the time the day's hunt is done and he returns 
to camp at dusk, tired, hungry as a polar bear, but 
contented and happy. The long tramp during 
the day through the woods in the keen, biting 
air of the North Country in November, is a sure 
cure for that failing appetite and listlessness or 
tired feeling which oftentimes chains us down 
in the city. 

The chickadee and red squirrel are about the 
only company we find in these woods. Our little 
feathered friends are very busy flitting and hopping 
about from tree to bush and bush to tree, while 
the little bushy tail scans us from his lookout on 
some near-by tree or log, scolding and scampering 
up and down in such incongruous style that we 
sometimes lose our self-control and burst out into 
a fit of laughter at the ludicrous antics of these 
little natives of the game-land who know not man 
nor fear. 

After going some three miles west along the 
road, we separated, the editor making a detour to 
the west and south and Sager and Clark going 
in on the editor's blazed trail to where he had 
killed and hung up the deer. When some distance 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 141 

in on the trail he saw where Sager and Clark had 
evidently shot at some deer, as there was a fresh 
bullet mark on a birch tree near the trail and 
fresh deer tracks across the path. In a short time, 
as he was resting himself on a log, Art Buck 
strolled along, having drifted off that way. The 
two soon started along the trail, and were presently 
joined by Sager and Clark who had shot at two 
deer running down a hill near the trail, and which 
they had been tracking to see if a hit had been 
made, but reported a miss, as the game was going 
too fast. As the party of four walked along, Art 
suddenly stopped and said, "Boys, I heard a deer 
jump." We began looking for it, and in a moment 
a big buck stepped into sight, but only so a part of 
his body was visible through the brush and trees. 
The editor was ahead in the path, and seeing the 
fore-shoulders and fore-legs of the deer as it stepped 
behind a bunch of trees, he drew a hasty bead on 
the shoulder and fired; Art's gun also cracked a 
moment later. The deer jumped at the crack of 
the rifles and ran Hke the wind. We went to the 
spot where the buck stood and found some hair 
where the bullet cut it off, but no blood. Then 
we tracked him a half mile or so, but found no 
evidence of a wound. The editor felt a little cut 
up, as he could not understand why his 30-30 did 
not stop the game in its usual prompt style. 

We then went in on the trail and brought out 
the editor's deer. This we took to camp and hung 
it up. Bennett and Buck afterwards went out and 



142 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

skinned it, and we had some choice venison steak 
fried with onions for supper. 

Nov. 14. — Art got a fine big buck this morning 
on a runway west of camp. The buck came along 
a Httle before 7 o'clock and walked up to within 
60 feet of him, never saw or smelled him, and Art 
dropped him with one shot in the neck. After 
hanging up the deer he went in southwest and 
jumped four more deer, one of which was a big 
doe and he fired at her at about 30 rods and cut 
some hair from her — shot too low or else the bul- 
let fell on the long range. A 30-30 would have got 
her all right on the dead level. Cell Clark and Joe 
Sager got a shot at two running, but made no hit. 
P. A. Buck also saw three deer, but no chance to 
shoot. 

A hunter in the camp across the road from us 
got lost in the northwest corner today and did not 
get in until 2 o'clock in the morning. He flounder- 
ed around nearly all night in the swamp, in dark- 
ness, rain and snow, and finally, after the moon 
came up and the storm had passed, he got out onto 
the right road and reached camp. We saw him 
this morning and his hair was standing up straight 
yet. It will be at least a week before he can wear 
his hat without a string to hold it on. He had no 
hatchet or matches. A man who will go into these 
woods without matches, hatchet or a compass, is 
simply courting trouble and is sure to find it some 
day. 

Nov. 15. — There was about three inches of snow 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 143 

on the ground this morning, and a party of us decided 
to take a trip to the river, as the day was Sunday, 
and we did not care to hunt that day. So Pick- 
haver, Sager and George Brown, who is camped 
just across the road, and the editor, all started on 
the west road for the river, leaving camp about 
8 o'clock this morning. The snow was not deep 
enough to impede progress, and the walking was 
therefore very good. 

Our path led up over a series of very high hem- 
lock ridges, in a northwesterly direction. These 
ridges were the highest that we had ever seen in 
Michigan, and it was a good task to climb up to 
the top, as it was so steep. The ridges looked bald, 
from the fact that the hemlock had been all cut off, 
leaving only the bald top and its bare face, which 
towered far above the surrounding forest trees. 
In fact, it seemed like standing on top of some of 
those high foothills in the Rockies, as the tops of 
the highest hemlocks could be seen far below us. 
Having reached the top, we stopped long enough 
to rest a minute to catch our breath and also to 
allow the editor to take a snap shot at the sur- 
rounding scene with his kodak, then we resumed 
the journey. The trail led down along the bottom 
of the draw, after leaving the ridges, which we 
followed perhaps half a mile. We found after 
going a ways in the bottom of the draw, that a 
nice trout stream was trickling along beside us 
and only a few feet away. This trout stream was a 
beauty, indeed, and was picturesque, too. Its 



144 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

waters tumbled and rolled along in and out among 
the bends and curves of the deep draw, always seem- 
ing to say, "Hurry, Hurry." 

In the course of the two and a half miles to the 
river, we saw a good many nice trout, Joe Sager 
also shot a big plump grouse and knocked the 
feathers out of another one. We reached the river 
about II o'clock, and then spent about an hour in 
resting ourselves, also fishing in the river and eat- 
ing our lunches. 

The readers of the Journal are familiar with 
the editor's description of the famous Taquamenon 
river, by reading the story of his former hunts, 
but he is such an optimist and idealist that he can- 
not look upon such a scene as this without inwardly 
and outwardly giving expression to a few thoughts 
of admiration and deep love for the silent beauty 
and mysterious charm of the place which chained 
him to the spot. Indeed, so great is his admira- 
tion for the sylvan scene such as he enjoyed to- 
day, that he cannot help but express a wish that 
every sportsman friend who is a lover of Nature, 
(and what true sportsman is not), might stand 
where he did today and with sparkling eye and 
ever expectant breath, enjoy the same scene of 
wild and silent beauty. The dark waters of the 
river reflect with startling clearness the images of 
the deep cedar forest on the adjacent shore. The 
winding stream reveals the charm of forest out- 
line and wooded bank as the eye slowly follows 
its sinuous course. 



or, The Hunting Trips of ait Editor 145 

After reaching camp, the editor learned that Tom 
Russell had got a shot at a deer running at about 
30 rods, but probably did not hit. 

A fine maltese cat has been making his home 
in our tent lately. The boys take turns in petting 
him and feeding him choice bits of meat. He 
seems to have been used to luxury, as he always 
gets the softest spot in which to lie down and the 
warmest and coziest corner. 

Nov. 16. — As there are considerable signs of pine 
marten this fall, the editor took eleven marten 
traps out this morning intending to put them all 
out between the camp and the river. He did not 
get a very early start, however, and after setting 
six traps he found on consulting his watch, that 
it was past noon and also that the weather was fast 
changing, as it was by this time snowing fast. So 
he returned to camp. While setting one of his 
traps, he saw a nice deer coming towards him on 
the run, but his rifle being about 20 feet away rest- 
ing against a beech tree, he did not attempt to 
shoot, but watched the "flag" dancing through 
, space between the thick trees as the deer disap- 
peared in the direction it was coming, it evidently 
having seen or heard him rattling the chains on 
the traps as he was setting one. 

The editor reached camp about 2 o'clock in the 
afternoon, and it was then snowing hard. After 
eating a lunch he learned that Art Buck had gone 
to Emerson, four miles north, to get a pair of 
woodsmen's shoes like the editor's, and P. A. Buck 



146 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

and J. T. Pickhaver, had accepted an invitation 
from a Mr. Scott, a lumberman, who had a lumber 
camp on the other side of the river, and had ac- 
companied him home in his wagon to hunt in the 
vicinity of his camp for a day or two. 

This evening, just before dusk. Art Buck return- 
ed from Emerson with his coveted shoes, and cover- 
ed with snow, which made his clothing as wet as 
a rain storra, as the snow melted almost as fast as 
it fell. About 4 inches of snow has now fallen 
since morning, and as we retire for the night it is 
still snowing very hard. 

Nov. 17. — The editor took a walk in west today 
and the snow being about eight inches deep or 
more it was hard walking. 

When some two miles from home, and just as 
the editor had stepped into the road, he caught 
sight of what appeared to him to be a good sized doe 
coming down the road right towards him on the 
jump; a second glance revealed the fact that the 
deer was a good big fawn and that it was limping, 
evidently having been wounded. As it came on 
towards him he made up his mind it would be only 
an act of mercy to kill the animal now that it was 
wounded and would surely fall a prey to the wolves 
in case it did not fall down when exhausted and 
die. So he drew a bead on the animal's neck as 
it came bounding towards him, and at the crack 
of the rifle the game fell. 

He had gone about half a mile down the road 
when several hunters could be seen in the woods 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 147 

near the road tracking some animal. The editor 
shouted to them and waived his hand, recognizing 
the men as Art Buck, Tom Russell, and Joe Sager. 
He motioned for them to come to him, and they 
responded by starting for the road. When Art 
Buck caught sight of the editor's game which he 
was dragging, he looked puzzled, and the editor 
divining the truth, asked him if he had been follow- 
ing a wounded fawn. Art's face took on an en- 
lightened expression, as he replied: "Well, I should 
say I had, and I guess we have chased it 20 miles." 
"Well, here is your game I guess," replied the 
editor, and then he told them how he had got the 
animal. 

Nov. 18. — The weather was clear, bright and 
frosty this morning — just the kind of a morning 
to start a big buck, he of the "rocking chair head," 
and the editor was the one to do it, but as he did 
not get the game, thereby hangs a tale. He was 
out to take up some of his marten traps which had 
become snowed under, and in a very thick part 
of the woods, when suddenly a brownish gray ob- 
ject sprang into view, moving rapidly at right angles 
to him through a tangled labyrinth of brush, trees 
and fallen timber. In an instant the old reliable 
30-30 sprang to his shoulder and the shot rang out 
clear and sharp, while the buck, well, he kept right 
on going and seemed in a hurry. The editor took 
his track, and after going some distance, found a 
few drops of blood; thus encouraged he kept on 
after the game, tracking him through an almost 



148 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

impenetrable portion of a cedar swamp, and then 
out onto the hardwood land on the high hemlock 
ridges to the south, but never got another sight of 
the game. It was a very fine large buck, and he 
regretted very much that his first shot did not 
stop him as in many times of the past. Towards 
evening the editor returned to camp, tired and wet 
with falling snow, hungry as a wolf, but a hunter 
still. 

Arrived at the camp, the editor learned that Joe 
Sager had got a shot at a small deer towards even- 
ing on the edge of the swamp north of the camp. 
The deer was, like all others Joe declares he ever 
sees, going like the wind, and of course a flying 
shot only seemed to accelerate its speed. Tom 
Russell also reported a running shot, but don't 
think he made a hit. 

Nov. 19. — Snowing this morning; snowed three 
inches last night. There is about 18 to 20 inches of 
snow now on the level, and walking is most difficult 
in the woods where no trail has been broken. Even 
the deer seem to realize this, as we notice that they 
will now follow in any track made where they wish 
to go. If you break a trail through the snow in 
the morning, you need not be surprised to see where 
one or more deer have followed along in your 
tracks during the day either going or coming. The 
sleighing is excellent, but it is hard hunting. 

The boys in the camp south of us report that 
they found the deer one of their number killed and 
hung up on Nov. 17. This is the deer Tom Russell 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 149 

helped to kill, and afterwards loaned the fellow, 
whose deer it was, a compass and a hatchet, as he 
had none. The fellow, a young man, who has 
never hunted before, went home leaving his deer 
hanging in the woods, and forgot or neglected to 
blaze a trail out to the road. The next day he, in 
company with several companions, tried to find 
the game he had hung up the afternoon previous 
but though they searched all day, they could not 
locate the deer. Nor did they succeed in finding 
it until today, and have spent more or less of the 
time since in looking for it. Moral: Never go 
into the woods without a hatchet and a compass, 
and never kill a deer and leave it in the woods 
without blazing a good plain trail high enough on 
the trees to preclude the possibility of it snowing 
under, so you can at any time return to the spot 
and bring out your game. 

P. A. Buck and J. T. Pickhaver returned from 
a two days' hunt in Scott's lumber camp on the 
north side of the river today. They had good 
luck, too, as Buck reports having killed three deer, 
a big buck and two young deer, and Pickhaver got 
one. They report a splendid time and plenty of 
good sport. Not many hunters over there they 
say, and plenty of deer. This must be true, as 
they saw some seven or eight deer this morning 
while walking from Scott's camp up the river to 
the bridge, a distance of about eight miles. Pick- 
haver knocked hair out of one and followed a trail 
of blood, which led off into the swamp. He did not 



150 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

dare follow far, as he knew it would be impossible 
to get the animal out to the road even if he found 
it dead, as he expected, so they tramped on. They 
had such royal treatment from Mr. Scott, the owner 
of the camp, that they cannot speak too highly of 
him. 

Nov. 19. — As the snow is so deep we cannot 
hunt to any advantage, the boys decided to go 
home. So we began to arrange things for the 
home trip. At the same time we had our regrets 
at going out before the season was over, there 
being 11 days yet to hunt deer. 

Dr. F. S. Sovereen and party, of Evart, who 
are camped just across from us on the west side 
of the road are having good luck recently, and we 
heard one of the boys say today that their party 
killed three large bucks yesterday. They are 
now hunting north and west ; that is, they go north 
down the stage road about a mile or so and 
then go in west towards the river. This part of 
the country is rather low, most of it being in the 
big swamp, but there are high places, hemlock 
ridges and balsam flats, with an occasional island 
or high, rolling piece of hardwood, all excellent 
ground for deer hunting. 

In this, the concluding chapter of our Seventh 
Annual Hunt, it is worthy of mention that it was 
the general opinion expressed by the members 
of our party that we had all enjoyed a nice time in 
the woods and had been very successful in getting 
game, our party of eight having killed 12 deer, 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 151 

and a good amount of small game. No accident 
or sickness marred the event, and therefore we all 
voted the hunt to be a happy one, and to be re- 
called with pleasure in future years. 

The editor wishes to express his high appreciation 
for favors shown to him by the Duluth, South 
Shore & Atlantic Ry., through its obliging and 
courteous General Passenger Agent, Mr. Geo. 
W. Hibbard, of Marquette, who not only takes a 
personal interest in the welfare of the visiting 
sportsman to any part of the country reached by 
The D. S. S. & A Ry., but does all he can through 
his official capacity to make the trip one of com- 
fort and pleasure. The passenger service of the 
D. S. S. & A. Ry. is superior to many other systems 
of Ry., and one can but express a pleasant surprise 
when gliding along comfortably and pleasantly 
in its luxurious and richly appointed passenger 
coaches. The passenger service between Marquette 
and Sault Ste. Marie is of the best to be found 
in the land, the trains are all electric lighted and 
the coaches are of modern build and equipment, 
having chair cars, sleeper and dining cars on these 
trains. Our party also found the rates for travel- 
ing more reasonable than some other roads and 
the trainmen courteous and obliging in every 
way possible. 

Another fact, this railroad reaches more fine 
hunting and fishing grounds than any other railway 
system of the middle west. In fact, there is 
scarcely a mile of ground along this entire system 



152 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

that big game, such as bear,"deer, wolf, lynx, etc., 
cannot be found, and the smaller game is most 
abundant. There are scores of beautiful lakes 
and sparkling rivers along the line, in the vicinity 
of which would make ideal camping spots. 

The trout fishing in this locality is also unex- 
celled. There are hundreds of good trout streams, 
which, I do not believe, were ever fished. Most 
of these, of course, are back from the railroad, but 
still can be reached if one has a desire for the rare 
sport of fishing where no other man has ever fished 




SAGER AND PICKHAVER ON THE TAH-QUA-ME-NON 
RIVER. 



IN THE LAND OF HIAWATHA— THE 
BEAUTIFUL TAH-QUA-ME-NON. 

Chapter VIIL 

In the solitary forest, 

By the nishing Taquamenaw, * ♦ ♦ 

Longfellow, in Hiawatha's Sailing. 

Hiawatha, who has not read this beautiful Indian 
legend-poem?' Sung in song and story, drama- 
tized, eulogized, and printed in nearly every lan- 
guage in the civilized world. Very few people, 
however, are at all familiar with the scene of the 
poem. In fact, if you should ask ten people 
where it was that Hiawatha builded his phantom 
canoe, nine out of the number would say: "Oh, 
somewhere out west. " After careful study of the 
subject and research, and with the assistance of 
that well-known sportsman, editor- author, traveler, 
the Hon. Chase wS. Osborn, of Sault Ste. Marie, 
Mich., I have come to the conclusion that the river 
so alluded to in Longfellow's celebrated Hiawatha, 
is none other than the beautiful Tah-qua-me-non, 
in the vicinity of which I have hunted during the 
past seven years, and recorded in the foregoing 
pages. This river always had a certain mystic 
charm for me, even before I discovered its true 
place in the classic scene ground of Longfellow's 
masterpiece in Indian lore. And now I cannot 
look upon its swift rushing waters and darkly 
fringed forests' shores, without a feeling of tran- 

153 



154 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

scendent happiness, tinged with a sense of awe and 
supreme nature love for this famous river, which 
today is not a whit less wild and solitary than it 
was in the days of "Hiawatha." The following 
quotation is from Longfellow's "Hiawatha's Sail- 
ing:" 

In the solitary forest, 

By the rushing Taquamenaw, 

It was by the side of the Tah-qua-me-non that 
Hiawatha builded his phantom canoe. 

Built a swift Chemaun for sailing 
That shall float upon the river 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily. 

Paddles none he had or needed. 

For his thoughts as paddles served him. 

Dived as if he were a beaver. 
Stood up to his waist in water, 
To his arm pits in the river. 
Swam and shouted in the river, 
Tugged at sunken logs and branches, 
With his hands he scooped the sand-bars, 
With his feet the ooze and tangle, 

Down the rushing Taquamenaw, 

Sailed through all its bends and windings, 

Sailed through all its deeps and shallows. 

In and out among its islands, 
Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar. 
Dragged the dead trees from its channel, 
Made its passage safe and certain. 
Made a pathway for the people, 
From its springs among the mountains, 
To tne waters of Pauwating, 
To the bay of Taquamenaw. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 155 

In Longfellow's poem, " Hiawatha's Sailing," the 
river is spelled "Taquamenaw, " which, according 
to Indian dictionaries, has been derived from the 
original " 0-tah-ko-bin-naun, " which, being given 
in English means, " He ties them, " and in reference 
to this subject Mr. Osborn says: 

"As applied to the Tahquamenon, it might mean 
a river without a current, or a river with a current 
tied. The translation also is a prisoner's strings 
or thongs for tying prisoners. This might refer 
to the Tahquamenon as being a river tied or 
hidden in the forest, or a river bound by the frost, 
as the Tahquamenon is frost bound nearly half 
the year." 

In " Hiawatha's Sailing," the word "Pauwating" 
occurs, which is given in the vocabulary as meaning 
"Saut Sainte Marie," the original of " Sault 
Sainte" or "Ste. Marie," more commonly and 
vulgarly called "Soo. " Likewise, the word " Big- 
Shining-Sea-Water, or Big-Sea-Water, which 
means Lake Superior. 

In further reference to this subject, Mr. Osborn 
says : 

"This river is undoubtedly the one mentioned 
in Longfellow's Hiawatha, where it is spelled 
*' Taquamenaw. " Indian names are spelled by 
sound. A syllable, with gesture, may mean an 
entire sentence, and several syllables, involve a 
paragraph. Instead of communicating by sen- 
tences and paragraphs, the Indian language is 
almost always a series of hyphenated words, the 



156 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

meaning of which is extended by the addition of a 
hyphen and a syllable whenever further meaning 
is required. 

There are Indian Orthoepists, and among them 
Father Baraga, who contend that Tahquamenon 
means a "pathway for the people, " and I refer you 
to the line from Longfellow, "Made a pathway for 
the people. " In interviewing the learned members 
of two O- jib- way tribes, true descendants of the 
0-jib-ways of Hiawatha's days, one says that 
"naw" or "non" when affixed to a word means 
"bay." This is Quis-qua-qum's theory, who 
further says that "Tahqua" means "short." He 
did not understand where the "me" comes in, but 
was of the opinion it had been vulgarily added by 
the whites. He is certain that " Tah-qua-non " 
should be the word, which means "short bay." 
The chief literati of Buz-bik-wo-chik differs a little 
from Quis-qua-qum by contending that "Tah-qua- 
me-non" means "sheltered bay" or "point. " 

It will be remembered that both the river and 
bay bear the same title, Tah-qua-me-non, there- 
fore, with the facts as here presented, it seems 
certain beyond all dispute, that this river, hidden 
away in the remoteness and fastness of the North 
Country of Michigan, is entitled to the distinction 
that the literary people and Nature students and 
sportsmen of the world will not be long in tran- 
scribing to it in its relationship to "Hiawatha." 

That the scene of Hiawatha's birth and youth 
was laid in and about the region of Lake Superior, 



or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 157 

in the vicinity of the Tah-qua-me-non river, is 
further attested by a close reading of chapter three, 
' ' Hiawatha's Childhood. ' ' Quoting from the poem 
we find it was : 

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea-Water, 
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis. 
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
Dark behind it rose the forest, 
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees. 
Rose the fire and cones upon them; 
Bright before it beat the water, 
Beat the clear and sunny water, 
Beat the Shining Big-Sea- Water. 
There the wrinkled, old Nokomis 
Nursed the little Hiawatha, 
Rocked him in his linden cradle. 
Bedded soft in moss and rushes, 
Safely boiind with reindeer sinews; 
Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 
" Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!" 

Gitche Gumee, or Big-Sea- Water, is Lake Super- 
ior, and its southern shore, or that portion lying 
between the Pictured Rocks and Satdt Ste. Marie, 
is famous as the camping grounds of the Ojibway 
tribe of Indians from time immemorial. This 
region is rich in legends and traditions, and relic 
hunters have for years desecrated the Indian 
mounds and burial places, unearthing beads, 
arrows, and many other relics of the dead warriors. 
Only last fall, 1903, I found the skull and other 
bones of an Indian, where they had been recently 
unearthed on the high bluffs overlooking Tah- 



158 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

qua-me-non Bay. While having nothing further 
to corroborate my belief than the general location 
of the scene, I am convinced that it was by the 
ford of the Tah-qua-me-non river, also that little 
Hiawatha killed the red deer. When lagoo, the 
great boaster, story teller and traveler, had made 
a bow for Hiawatha, he said to Hiawatha: 

"Go, my son, into the forest, 
Where the red deer herd together, 
Kill for us a famous roebuck, 
Kill for us a. deer v;ith antlers!" 
All alone walked Hiawatha 
Proudly, with his bow and arrows: 
And the birds sang round him, o'er him, 
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" 

To the ford across the river. 
And as one in slumber walked he. 
Hidden in the alder bushes, 
There he waited till the deer came. 

And his heart within him fluttered, 
Trembled like the leaves above him, 
Like the birch-leaf palpitated, 
As the deer came down the pathway. 
Then upon one knee uprising, 
Hiawatha aimed an arrow: 
Scarce a twig moved with his motion, 
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, 
But the wary roebuck started. 
Stamped with all his hoofs together. 
Listened with one foot uplifted. 
Leaped as if to meet the arrow; 
Ah! the singing, fatal arrow. 
Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him! 
Dead he lay there in the forest, 
By the ford across the river. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 159 

There is no doubt in my mind but what Long- 
fellow had the Tah-qua-me-non river in his mind 
when he drew this beautiful pen picture of the 
mystic Hiawatha and the killing of the roebuck. 
The location of the wigwam of Nokomis, I believe, 
was in and about the shore of Tah-qua-me-non 
Bay. The river by this name empties into this 
bay and the bay is a part of Lake Superior. The 
location of the wigwam of Nokomis I should place 
on the south side of the Tah-qua-me-non river, or 
about on the spot where at present stands the 
little settlement of Emerson. At this place is a 
very beautiful beach of pure white sand, and the 
scene commands a grand open view of the Tah- 
qua-me-non Bay. The river flows about three- 
quarters of a mile north of Emerson, and debouches 
into the bay. At its mouth it is about 50 yards 
wide, and there is a bridge across it allowing 
teams to pass on the stage route to and from White 
Fish Point. It is very probable to believe that 
the site of the present bridge marks a natural 
crossing place on the river, and could easily have 
been the ford where Hiawatha killed the red deer, 
as it would be about the distance he would have 
to have journeyed into the forest to have seen a 
deer. Even to this day, were the bridge and road 
not there, one might expect to see a majestic 
roebuck in the act of attempting to cross at this 
place, and only a short distance up the river one 
can find plenty o^ deer signs, and crossing places 
for the game. 



i6o Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

The poet's description of the scene near the 
wigwam of Nokomis fits exactly the place I have 
alluded to. Allowing for the change in the scene 
from what it was before the giant pine trees were 
cut away, the pen picture would be almost ideal, 
as the spot I have indicated nestles at the very 
edge of the forest, with "the clear and sunny 
water" right before it. 

When Hiawatha had "out of childhood into 
manhood" grown, he said: 

"I will go to Mudjekeewis, 
See how fares it with my father, 
At the doorways of the West- Wind, 
At the portals of the Sun-set." 

Thus it will be noted Hiawatha started West, 
"towards the doorways of the West- Wind, " and 
"the portals of the Sun-set." And following him 
along in his journey in the poem, we find — 

So he journeyed westward, westward, 
Left the fleetest deer behind him 
Left the antelope and bison; 
Crossed the rushing Esconaba, 
Crossed the mighty Mississippi, 
Passed the mountains of the prairie, 
Passed the land of Crow and Foxes, 
Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet, 
Came unto the Rocky Mountains, 
To the Kingdom of the West- Wind. 

It will be noted here that the poet evidently 
used the phonetic form of spelling, as is illustrated 
in the words " Taquamenaw, " and again "Esco- 
naba. " Nearly all the old maps and charts give 
the spelUng of Tah-qua-me-non as did Longfellow, 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor i6i 

the word evidently having been spelled from 
sound. Likewise the same with Escanaba which 
he spelled with an "o" instead of an "a," as it is 
spelled at the present time. 

After Hiawatha's mystic pilgrimage to the land 
of the Sunset, he again turned his face eastward, 
visiting the Falls of Minnehaha, naming it " Laugh- 
ing Water, " and its fame has gone forth over the 
entire civilized world. I have stood by the side 
of these beautiful falls, and, like unto thousands 
of other pilgrims to the beauty spot, worshiped 
at its shrine, and hallowing in memory the name 
of the poet whose beautiful verse had made it 
famous. Not wishing to detract one iota from 
the name and fame of the falls of Minnehaha, 1 
am contending that a share of the fame which the 
illustrious Longfellow has cast about this scene 
on the Mississippi river, shall, by right be divided 
with Michigan's claims upon the most beautiful 
part of the life scenes and poetic description of 
the same in Hiawatha's life, embracing as it does 
the birth, youth, manhood, and eventful deeds 
of his mystic life, including, perhaps, the most 
classic and touching part of the poem-legend, the 
building and floating of the phantom canoe. As 
has been shown, the Tah-qua-me-non river on 
which this phantom canoe was builded and floated 
is all within Michigan, as also is the "rushing 
Esconaba," also "Pauwating," Sault Saint Marie, 
presumably the river is here referred to; "Gitche 
Gumee," "Big-Sea-Water," or Lake Superior, 
that is, that portion of the shore of Lake Superior 



1 62 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

which is possible to have been meant according to 
the description of the scenes. 

In chapter XVII, "The Hunting of Pau-Puk- 
Keewis," further proof is found of the scene in 
Hiawatha's hfe after his marriage to Minnehaha, 
as we find him pursuing the allegorical Pau-Puk- 
Keewis, the Storm Fool, and he journeyed 

"On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
Westward by the Big-Sea-Water, 
Came unto the rocky headlands, 
To the pictured rocks of sandstone." 

And again in Chapter XVIII, "The Death of 
Kwasind, " the Strong Man, we find — 

The Puk-Wudjies knew the secret, 
Knew the only way to kill him. 
So they gathered cones together. 
Gathered seed-cones of the pine tree, 
Gathered blue cones of the fir tree. 
In the woods by Taquamenaw, 
Brought them to the river's margin. 
Heaped them in great piles together. 
Where the red rocks from the margin 
Jutting overhang the river. 

Down the river came the strong Man, 
In his birch canoe came Kwasind, 
Floating slowly down the current 
Of the sluggish Taquamenaw. 

So he floated down the river. 
Like a blind man seated upright, 
Floated down the Taquamenaw, 
Underneath the trembling birch trees, 

Underneath the wooded headlands, 
Underneath the war encampment 
Of the Puk-Wudjies. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 163 

In Chapter XXII, " Hiawatha's Departure, " the 
scene depicting his last days on earth, describes 
him as follows: 

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea-Water, 
At the door of his wigwam, 
In the pleasant summer morning, 
Hiawatha stood and waited. 

From his place rose Hiawatha, 
Bade farewell to old Nokomis. 

"I am going, O Nokomis, 

On a long and distant journey. 

To the portals of the stmset. 

To the regions of the home-wind." 

On the clear and luminous water 
Laimched his birch-canoe for sailing. 
From the pebbles of the margin 
Shoved it forth into the water; 
Whispered to it, "Westward! Westward! West- 
ward!" 

Westward, westward Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
Sailed into the purple vapors. 
Sailed into the dusk of evening. 
And they said, "Farewell forever 
Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" 

Thus departed Hiawatha, 
Hiawatha the Beloved, 
In the glory of the sunset. 
In the purple mists of evening, 
To the regions of the home- wind, 
Of the Northwest-wind Keewaydin, 
To the islands of the Blessed, 
To the kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the land of the Hereafter! 



164 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 



LEGEND OF THE TAHQUAMENON. 

Among the many beautiful legends which are 
known by the Indian story tellers in connection 
with the Tah-qua-me-non river, the following is 
related by John 0-gish-ta, of the Garden River 
Band, and son of the chief of that band and by 
Ash-qua-gwon. 

A great many years ago, the Menominees and 
the Ojibways were at war. Among the captives 
taken by the Menominees was a beautiful Ojibway 
maiden who was taken into the band, and became 
affiliated with them, and was looked upon as a 
member of the tribe of the Menominees. Later 
the Menominees decided to again send a war party 
against the Ojibways, many of whom at that time 
were located on Lake Superior near Tahquamenon 
Bay. The Menominees left the Green Bay country 
to cross what is now the upper peninsula of Michi- 
gan to Lake Superior, taking with them the Ojib- 
way maiden who was familiar with the northern 
country, to guide them, feeling sure that she was 
too friendly and loyal to betray them to her own 
people, the Ojibways. Finally, after many days 
of travel, they were on the last stage of their 
journey, on the way down the Tahquamenon 
river. In this river there are a series of falls, the 
highest of which is about 50 to 60 feet, and are 
the farthest up the river. Above these Big Falls 
is a long stretch of smooth water. The Meno- 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 165 

minees did not know of the location of the falls, 
but the Ojibway maiden knew the country well, 
and when they began to approach the falls, and 
even before her keen ear could catch the first 
murmur of the falling waters, she raised a wild, 
sweet chant, in which her fellow voyagers joined. 
The chant swelled louder as the canoes flew on- 
ward, and absorbed in the song, the savages did 
not hear the increasing roar of the falls until they 
were caught in the swift current, too late to stop 
or change their course, and the entire party was 
carried over the mighty brink, to find death in the 
cool and surging waters below. In this manner 
did the beautiful Ojibway maiden save her own 
people and avenge her wrongs. 



HINTS ON THE ART OF STILL HUNTING. 
Chapter IX. 

But soft! methinks I scent the morning air. * * * 

— Shakespeare, in Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 5. 

These hints are not intended to be a law unto 
themselves, nor do I wish to be understood as 
offering advice to the old and experienced hunter, 
far from it, but these brief notes are offered to 
those of my fellow sportsmen who have not had 
the advantage of associating with old and experi- 
enced big game hunters and are not familiar with 
the best printed authority on the subject. Thou- 
sands of men go into the woods each year "after 
their first deer," some get their game and some 
do not. Now, why do some fail? 

Not every man who goes into the woods in these 
days can kill his deer, there are various good 
reasons for this. The game is getting scarcer and 
more wary each year, and, therefore, it takes more 
skill to secure the game. Dogs are not allowed in 
most places. To my mind still hunting is the 
fairest method and the highest type of Nimrod 
skill to take large game, and especially deer. 
The successful still hunter must be able to go 
through the woods still — by this I mean just what 
I say — you must be able to walk in any direction, 
over fallen tree tops, among logs and brush and 
up hill and down, and not crack a twig — that is, 

167 



1 68 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

very often. A deer will jump and run at the sound 
of a twig cracking, and will be out of sight long 
before the hunter reaches the spot where the deer 
was when he heard the sound; his long ears and 
perfect hearing and acute sense of smell and 
natural alertness, will enable him to successfully 
elude and dodge you unless you understand the 
art of approaching the vicinity of the game before 
the game is aware of your proximity. Wear some- 
thing soft and comfortable on your feet; likewise 
soft clothing — corduroy or woolen clothing, avoid 
all harsh surface stuff, which will "crack" when 
going through the brush. Do not try to dress 
in the color of a deer or bear, unless you wish to 
commit suicide, as such foolhardiness tempts care- 
less men to kill each other, mistaking a moving 
object for a deer or bear every hunting season. 
I have found a scarlet colored or red woolen sweater 
one of the best safeguards and most serviceable 
and comfortable garments for deer hunting. No 
man who is not totally unfit to be at large with a 
gun, would shoot at a man wearing a red sweater. 
Then always remember to look before you 
shoot, and be sure it is living game before you 
pull the fatal trigger. Better to lose a hundred 
deer than to kill or wound one fellow man. Go 
slow; don't be in a hurry. Look closely at every 
object around you. Stop often, at least every 20 
paces. When you stop, always try to be near a 
tree or bush, to partly screen your body. A few 
moments to 5 or 10 minutes is usually long enough. 




THE LOAD READY FOR THE STATION. 




DEERFOOT LODGE. OWNED BY HON. CHASE S. OSBORN, 
JUDGE JOSEPH H. STEERE AND ROYS J. CRAM. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 169 

but this part must be acquired; I make it a practice 
to be guided more by instinct, and the rule to wait 
in certain places and under certain circumstances 
long enough to allow any game which might be 
traveling towards me to come into my line of vision. 
If you are moving slowly towards the game and 
the game is working towards you, it won't take 
long until you gradually come together, or close 
enough to secure a telling shot. Watch your back 
track as well as the ground before you, and every 
time you step, remember that step brings you just 
that much nearer your possible game; at every 
step the scene gradually changes, and at some 
step, it will surely bring you in sight of the game — 
always try to imagine the next step you take will 
do this, and if you go still and against the wind, 
you will get a shot. Never travel on the wind. 
If you do not know which way the wind is, try 
this : when starting in the morning, place a handful 
of green spruce or hemlock branches on the camp 
fire, then step outside and note which way the 
smoke drifts steadily. This will give you the 
right direction to take, which always should be 
against the wind. If in the woods, light a match 
and note which way the smoke blows. I some- 
times hunt on a cross wind, that is to say, if the 
wind is in the west, I hunt west, and then turn 
and hunt either south or north, as the fancy suits 
me; and if in the east, vice versa. Nearly all large 
game animals travel on the wind, which is one of 
their greatest safeguards. 



170 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

Have a good hatchet and hunting knife in a 
belt, and always carry a good reliable compass, 
also a watch. A watch will tell you the time of 
day, and I always compute distance traveled in 
a pathless woods or on unknown roads by my 
watch ; a man will ordinarily walk a mile in fifteen 
minutes on an open road, carrying his gun, and 
in the woods, he will travel (if not still hunting), 
a mile in 20 minutes; thus it is easy to tell how 
far you will go in a day if you note the time. 
The compass may save your life. Get entirely 
familiar with it, and learn to hold it while walking, 
so you can tell exactly the direction you are going. 
Also line your objects, pick out a tree or limb 
and practice traveling towards it without the 
aid of a compass, and in a little while you will be 
surprised to see how easy you can travel long 
distances even when there is no sun without 
using your compass. Never start on a hunt 
unless you have at least 20 rounds of ammunition 
as a reserve; not that you will shoot that many 
shots in a day, but you may lose your way, or 
some accident happen when you will need to 
fire signals of distress; arrange with your com- 
panions in camp about these things, as to be fore- 
warned is to be fore-armed. 

Early in the morning and towards evening are 
the best times to find deer. Deer feed in the fore 
part of the night and early part of the morning, 
and about 10 o'clock lie down if not disturbed. 

They will not get up until the middle of the after- 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 171 

noon if not scared. Then they begin to feed 
around, travehng along slowly, and cropping a 
morsel here and there. This is a good time to be 
around looking for them. When you have killed 
your game, if alone and far from camp, see that it 
bleeds well, and hang it up if you can. The 
method I use in hanging up deer is this: I drag 
my deer near to a small tree about three inches 
in diameter, shin up it until my weight bends it 
so it will swing to the ground; then I grab the 
branches with one hand and take my hatchet and 
cut off the limbs on the tree, leaving a little at the 
top, and a crotch, if one. Then I take a piece of 
small rope I always carry in my pocket, fasten it 
to the tree and then tie the deer's head to it 
securely. The weight of the deer will then hold 
the sapling down. Then I cut out two poles, 
each 8 to 10 feet in length, with a crotch or fork 
at the ends placing one on either side of the carcass 
of the deer. Then grab one pole, and insert 
the crotch in the sapling just back of the deer's 
head and lift or push the body up ; then go to the 
other side and do the same, alternately pushing 
and raising it until the hind feet clear the ground 
about a foot. Then it is ready to clean out. 
Then take my hunting knife and cut the skin 
from the point where the bones join together, 
or the brisket, down to the tail, holding back 
the intestines with my left hand until the cut 
is clear and open, when I release my hold suddenly, 
allowing the entrails to fall out in a heap at my 



172 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

feet. Then reaching up into the interior, I grasp 
the heart and Uver, and pull them out, afterwards 
either pulling off or cutting the wind pipe as 
far up in the throat as I can reach. If this is 
done properly, very little or no blood will adhere 
to the inside of the carcass, and what there is 
will drain out perfectly. The head will hang up, 
and thus the hair will shed water or melting snow. 
Now you must mark the spot so you can come 
and get it. I take my gun in one hand, first 
getting the direction by compass to some know 
road or outlet, then holding my hatchet in the 
other hand, walk off, gashing a tree about four 
feet from the ground every few rods, always 
from both sides and so marked that a man can 
follow the blazes in almost a straight line from 
either direction. Once out upon a known road, 
the rest is easy. 

If you should get lost, don't lose your head, 
but take things cool. You should always have 
a good supply of matches, and keep them dry. 
If you are so far from home or camp that you 
think gun shots will not be heard, save your 
ammunition, you may need it, but it is usually 
best to at first fire a signal of distress — 3 quick 
shots. Then after waiting a reasonable time 
and hearing no shots in reply, prepare to make 
the best of it. Build a good fire, and build a 
temporary shelter for the night. This can easily 
be done with the brush and leaves always at 
hand, even if you have no hatchet. Then sit 



or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 173 

down and rest your weary body, light your pipe, 
and thus ease your mind. Keep your fire going 
during the night, and when dayHght comes, you 
will be able to make your way out if help does 
not come to you. 

Perhaps a word about the care of the gun in 
camp will not be amiss here. I will give an 
illustration of our daily routine, that is, that 
part affecting the care of the gun. After the 
cravings of the inner man have been fully satisfied, 
the day's hunt having come to an end, a few 
minutes work with dish cloth and wiping towel, 
soap and hot water; placed our table in as neat 
and tidy condition as it would have been at home. 
The dishes all washed, dried and put in their 
places, we next turned our attention to the faith- 
ful guns which had been our companions during 
the day. First the cartridges are removed from 
the gun chamber, and an oiled cotton flannel rag 
run down the smooth barrel many times until not 
a particle of burnt powder can be seen on the 
white cloth; then gun oil is poured on another 
clean, soft rag, and the barrel wiped with it so 
that no rust will get into the deep, fine cut rifle 
grooves. Then the lever and all working parts, 
particularly the trigger and hammer, are oiled, 
and the lever worked up and down to test its 
perfect working order; then the outside of the 
rifle barrel is oiled well with a coat of gun grease 
and an oiled rag drawn across the polished stock 
and forearm; then the magazine is filled with 



174 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

cartridges, another pumped into the barrel, and 
the old reliable weapon is carefully deposited in 
some handy comer, ready for instant use at any 
moment. 

I do not know of anything in camp that receives 
more care and attention than the hunter's favorite 
gun. In fact, a good gun can only be kept so by 
the most persistent and careful attention. My 
guns are never allowed to stand over night after 
being shot without a thorough cleaning and being 
well oiled, and I never had a pitted or rusty gun. 
The special borings of the modern 30 calibre 
rifles especially require the most exacting atten- 
tion, but it is a very easy matter to keep your 
rifle clean and well oiled all the time if it is always 
attended to every night when you come in. In 
damp weather, in snow or rain, I oil my rifle when 
ever I come into camp, if it is once or oftener a 
day. If you do not do this the magazine tube 
or barrel and other steel parts of the gun are 
liable to rust. 



THE TIMBER WOLF. 
Chapter X. 

Nearly all deer hunters who are well posted on 
the facts agree that more deer are killed annually 
by the pot and hide hunters and large timber 
wolves, than all the deer hunters combined who 
hunt only as the law provides and during the 
open season. 

Then I learned that many deer are killed out 
of season in the summer, by the use of a light at 
night. This is unlawful at any time of year, but 
many are killed that way. 

The large and ferocious gray timber wolves, of 
which there are a great many in the back counties 
of the upper peninsula, are another great source 
of wholesale destruction to the deer. In winter, 
when the snow lies deep, and a little moisture 
has prevailed in the atmosphere, then is followed 
by a cold, crisp spell of weather, a hard crust forms 
on the snow, which will oftentimes bear up the 
weight of an ordinary, good-sized man, and even 
heavier weights, such as a big buck, walking or 
trotting along slowly, but if the deer are running, 
and on the long jump, as they usually are, the fore 
feet of the animal strikes the crust something like 
the point of a pike-pole being driven with force 
into the ice, and the momentum of the body, 

175 



176 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

together with the weight of even a small deer is 
sufficient to cause the crust to be broken on the 
surface, thus letting the animal down into the 
soft, dry snow underneath for a foot or more, 
sometimes several feet. 

A deer thus entangled cannot run, as at e very- 
new jump ahead it only plunges through the crust 
of snow, the sharp edges of the icy covering being 
like a knife, cut the skin and even sever the legs 
of a deer if it continues to run in the crust at a 
great distance; but it is practically impossible for 
the deer to go very far in the snow crust; thus it 
is that they fall an easy prey to the howling, 
blood-thirsty and ferocious pack of wolves, which 
can follow on the trail of a deer on the crust, their 
soft padded feet making scarcely a scratch on 
the surface, save where the sharp, cruel claws cut 
into the ice, as they leap along over the glistening 
surface with the swiftness of the wind. 

As soon as the unfortunate deer is reached, if it 
be a large buck, a terrible battle begins at once 
only to end in the utter destruction of the noble 
game; the deer is lodged in the crust, and at every 
attempt to run away, is met by the howling, 
snarling and jumping wolves, who have formed 
a complete circle around their prey, and gradually 
grow bolder, advancing leap by leap, until some 
bigger and bolder one fastens his powerful jaws 
into the living flesh of the frantic deer, and with 
awful ferocity and powerful yanks, actually tears 
the bleeding flesh from the bones; then the scene 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 177 

that follows is calculated to fire the blood of any 
man, it is so terribly real and intensely exciting. 

The dash of the leader at the deer and his suc- 
cessful assault, is the signal for the whole cowardly 
pack to do likewise, and in less than it takes time 
to relate it, the poor helpless deer is devoured, 
hide, hair and all, only except the white and 
cleanly picked bones, which lie scattered about, 
pointing out to the stray woodsman or hunter 
who may pass that way, the synopsis of a most 
common but awful tragedy of the great untamed 
forest and its savage inhabitants. 

The big timber wolf isian animal of great sagacity 
and cunning, and who can outwit the most skillfully 
devised plans for his destruction. His animal 
instinct and intelligence, if I may use this term, 
often surpass human knowledge. As a rule, he 
will not take meat of any kind which has been 
handled by humans or has the faintest taint of 
anything human about it; he will not enter any 
kind of a deadfall, pen, pit or enclosure, no matter 
how famished he is ; he will not take poisoned meat, 
lard drops or so-called poison pellets, and, there- 
fore, is practically immune from poison. There 
are some exceptions to this, but such instances are 
now rare. He will not be trapped — it has been 
tried by the best trappers in the north woods. 
His tracks can be seen in the woods where he has 
been pursueing deer or sneaking around the vicinity 
of your camp, but no matter how fresh the track 
you never catch sight of his lordship. He is like 



178 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

a phantom, he prowls through the woods by day 
and night and yet is not seen, and so he Hves to 
prowl another day. His terrible bowlings at night 
and sometimes in the late afternoon, drive terror 
into the hearts of the defenceless animals within 
hearing of his blood-curdling yells. He is by 
nature a coward, a sly, slinking sleuth, who will 
follow on the trail of his prey for hours until it 
falls from exhaustion, or is forcefully pulled down 
by him. He will not hesitate to attack even 
human beings when driven to desperation by the 
pangs of hunger; usually the wolf goes in packs 
or droves, but as his numbers are gradually becom- 
ing less, he oftentimes runs or hunts in twos and 
threes up to a dozen. The largest pack I know 
of having been in our vicinity in the North Country 
numbered about a dozen, this being carefully 
estimated by the howling and tracks. Starting 
through the woods, the animals scatter out to a 
distance of say half a mile to a mile, traveling in 
the same general direction. They move both 
slow and rapid by spells, according to the circum- 
stances. They are so adroit and cunning, that 
they will often pass within rifle shot of a hunter 
in the woods, but he will not either see or know 
of their presence save by the tell-tale tracks after- 
wards. When one of the number has found any- 
thing good to eat (for instance a dead carcass of 
a deer, horse or cow, or other flesh morsel), that 
lucky wolf sets up a howl which is followed by a 
series of prolonged howls, it being a signal to the 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 179 

other members of his pack to come to him as he 
has found something good. Answering howls 
come from the depths of the forest where his 
fellows are roaming, and all the wolves then 
assemble at the place of finding, when a great 
pow-pow commences, engaged in by the entire 
pack, each one seeming to outdo the other in 
intensity and ferocity of blood-curdling howls. 
If the find proves to be ripe, i. e., in that condition 
known as putrid, they are indeed, in a happy 
state, and after howling to call up all the wolves 
in the woods, at a given signal from the leader of 
the band, they fall to and devour the carcass, 
hide, hair and all, leaving only the white bones, 
licked clean. 

Their powers of endurance are almost incredible, 
and it is said on good authority, a wolf will often 
travel as far as 80 to 90 miles inside of 24 hours; 
they will run down a deer even on bare ground in 
from three to five hours. So it is not to be wonder- 
ed at that the killing of one of these ferocious and 
cunning animals should be heralded with joy by 
all hunters and woodsmen, and the lucky man 
can claim a state and county bounty of from 
$20 to $25 in Michigan. The man who can go 
into the woods and still hunt and kill his deer is 
a hunter, and the man who can match his wood- 
craft and skill against the timber wolf and kill 
one in still hunting, is a sure-enough hunter, and 
is also considered a lucky mortal, as this does not 
happen once in ten thousand times. 



SENTIMENT OF HUNTING. 
Chapter XI. 

The sentiment in regard to hunting is changing 
as each succeeding year sees the wild game of 
our once vast forests more and more depleted. 
The time is fast approaching when the sight of 
large game such as moose, elk, caribou, deer, 
bear, antelope and other big game will be a curi- 
osity to the younger generations. Although 
nearly every state and territory in the domain 
of the United States and also Canada has game 
laws on their statute books to protect the game, 
the fact remains that it is not protected in the 
manner desired to have the right effect. The 
result remains largely with the hunter himself 
whether he will use such good judgment and 
exercise good principles when he is in the presence 
of game. 

The days of the pot-hunter and game hog should 
now cease to be, if ever, as with the multiplied 
number of hunters and perfected state of fire- 
arms, the great net of railroads which have pene- 
trated nearly every portion of our once impenetra- 
ble fastness, it is easy enough for most any man 
to become a game hog at some time or other. 
He can, if he so choose, kill much more than any 
decent, natural lawwould allow for his share, 

181 



1 82 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 

and I regret to say that some men will do it. 
But why? Simply, I think for the sake of killing 
the game. It is not because they are really in 
need of the food which the killing of game sup- 
plies, because the meat is often left to lie on the 
ground and spoil or to be devoured by carnivorous 
animals or carrion birds. What a shame it is! 
No man that pretends to be even human, and 
who has any principle at all would be guilty of 
such wanton destruction of the wild creatures 
which God has created for man's use and not 
abuse. I raise my voice, with that of tens of 
thousands of others against the killing of any 
bird or animal for which there is not a good and 
just reason. Why should they be destroyed? I 
think it is often done in a criminal, careless 
manner, and regretted afterwards. 

But all the regrets in the world will not restore 
to life the most insignificant creature crushed out 
of existence by your hand. Remember this, you 
especially of the younger generations, and heed 
these words. Small and harmless animals are 
often shot and killed by thoughtless persons 
simply for the love of killing. Did you ever 
stop to consider what kind of a world we would 
have if all these defenceless and harmless animals 
and birds were forever wiped off the face of the 
earth? Nothing could be more desolate than the 
aspect of such a thing, but that is just exactly 
what will happen if this destruction is not checked 
soon. 



or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 183 

I sometimes feel as though the shedding of 
blood should be left out, as it seems cruel to 
deprive the animals and birds of life which fall 
before the deadly charge; and yet, this is the order, 
the natural law of life. Man has power to kill and 
rule all things on the earth, in the air and in the 
deep, but I believe he should not misuse such 
power nor privileges simply because he can do so. 

You would not go out and slaughter all your 
neighbor's ducks in his pond, nor kill his flock of 
sheep because you had a loaded gun and plenty 
of ammunition; neither should you go out and 
slaughter ruthlessly nor wantonly the animals and 
creatures which the Great Creator has given life 
and freedom; they make the fields and woods, the 
vast forests and lonely places, an entrancing and 
inviting picture of animal and natural beauty; all 
Nature lovers love to seek the haunts of the wild 
life of mountains, woods and plains. Hunting, I 
believe, as should be done in this day, should be 
mostly for recreation and to study Nature. The 
time has long since passed when hunting can be 
followed for a living; the forests have faded away, 
the plains dotted with farms and ranches and 
civilization holds its sway. The wild game is 
scarce and the recreation one gets in trying to 
capture some trophy of the woods whether he 
succeeds or not, should be the principal reason for 
hunting. Especially should this be true among 
true sportsmen and gentlemen. 



OCT 15 1904 



